We Were Sirens
       

Like all hybrids, we were liminal; we were
child-women, bird-women, nobody's daughters.
We were birds of prey, we prayed to be beautiful,
we believed in seduction as a victimless crime.
We hung out on beaches and boardwalks, on
piers and sidewalks, on porch-swings and perch
swings. We milled through the parks, the malls.
At home we wrapped our new bodies in fables,
in pious cages of silk, in soft libidinous songs.
In spring we envied the swallows who whirled
like lariats over freshly sown fields. In summer
we dreamed of sailors, of sinners; we listened
for the sound of speedboats skimming the bay,
our ears tuned to the thrum of escape. We
were bird-made, were bridesmaids, we dived
down so fast our hearts became weightless,
our throats made shrieks like Stukas splitting
the air. Some heard this as a warning, some
as a wail. Still, others knew it was song.

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Copyright © 2020 Jeanne Wagner All rights reserved
from Everything Turns Into Something Else
Grayson Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission