Mermaids and Drunks
Written by Kelly on January 31st, 2010My daughter wakes up in the middle of the night. She cries for me. I find her lying cold and wet in a tangle of sheets. In the marriage of her night light and the moon, her skin is pale as halloysite. She shivers as I change her pajamas. Shaking against my hands, my daughter is small and vulnerable. I feel tenderness like a Neruda poem.
My daughter reminds me of Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks. Neruda writes of the mermaid who stumbles into a bar. She has no clothes. The drunks assault her. They burn her body with cigarettes and toss hate like burnt corks. The mermaid, not having language, is silent through the entire assault. She does not shed a tear because tears do not belong to her. After the drunks have finished with her, she exits out the same door she entered. She climbs into the ocean and swims away. Neruda says she is clean as white stone. She swims towards emptiness, towards death.
I find comfort in Neruda’s poetry. We are all swimming towards death. Even my daughter with new skin, moonlight perfect, unblemished, will die one day. As I put my daughter back into her bed and pull up her covers to meet her chin, I am reminded of her namesake. Last year, my Nana waved a wrinkled hand at death. She and death flirted. He rested a bony hand in hers before losing interest and relenting. I went to see my Nana in the hospital. Hooked up to monitors, she looked so small against the bed rails. She was as beautiful as my daughter waking up in tears against some foreign night. We are all swimming towards this great empty.
When my daughter wakes up at night and calls for me to comfort her, I swell with love. I am simply overcome with it. I think about Neruda, mermaids, and drunks. Most times, I am comforted. Then, there are times when I get angry. My daughter so small, all of us so vulnerable, the arrogance of corks and cigarettes. At those times, I rage. I dream of fire. But, even clothed in words, with the burden of my emotions, I am certain the river will wash me clean.
31
PM
this speaks to me on so many levels.
explaining how doesn’t do it justice.
just know that these particular words of yours have woven themselves into me.
1
AM
Beautiful. So amazingly beautiful. I’ve never heard the story of the Mermaid and the Drunks before, and it touches me.
Wow.
1
PM
I don’t even know what to say, or how to say it.
What’s it like to be you?
2
AM
Wish I could feel so clear. I never knew any fear of death until I had my child. Now I use seatbelts and all kinds of things to try to avoid it.
2
AM
Yes, we are all moving towards death, not knowing the hour or the day. It is weird to look at myself as a kid and see myself now. There is a glimpse of that same person still.
2
PM
mmm, i loved this line:
In the marriage of her night light and the moon…
3
PM
I, too, love that description – “In the marriage ….”
I have never read Neruda. A fault soon to be corrected.
3
PM
i’m on the exact same page as slouchy and iceel.
incredible.
4
PM
Such a great poem. A little reminiscent of the short story “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings.”