From the Sea

long, long
ago.
People rose from
the seas,
cloaked in mist
and lopsided pearls.

Hair streaming salty,
in pairs,
some surfaced.
Single, many washed up.
Groups would swim in.

From where,
shipwreck
or lore no one could
tell,

their bodies were sacred.
Crowned with flowers
and brought
back to longhouses
across the coasts,
danced around
and blessed.

These sea bodies
of women,
watery men
with thin waists.

Silver dripping
from their ears,
shells in their hair.
No fins,
no webbed toes,
fingers long and lean.

Fishermen told stories
of the glittering bodies
in the bays.
Upon the shore,
met with blankets
and song.

Not long,
so near-
they were gone.

None of the myths washed up 
none of the silver bodies
dripping with pearls. 

No more ceremonies,
no greetings to give.
No coastal longhouses
to celebrate their arrival.

Never written into
the books,
the sea dwellers
vanished.