Mer-Womben

'Ma, Mare, Mer,'

we murmur our magic,

merry, unmarried, maiden, mom,

baby-rocking, re-membering,

moon-loon crooning.

We must be mer-womben,

our wombs fishy-swishy,

or we'd have drowned

in Deirdre's tears.

Tides cannot drown us;

they are our own.

The Deep holds no fears;

She is our home.

We are rocked; we are held,

never lonely or lone.

Moon has filled and emptied our cup.

We do not need to be lifted up.

We swim; we float; we dance; we rise,

to the tune of the deep sea's moan.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018