What does a woman from the sea sound like?
The Little Mermaid had a voice that had no equal in the world. It was a voice that was sacrificed at the altar of love.
I remember the fairy tale and I think to myself, a woman from the sea must sound like clear blue skies and glistening green foam. She must have a voice that contains the hush of eight hundred billion fish whispers and the strains of Neptune’s trumpets. She must possess a sound that encompasses the light of the moon and the turn of the tide. From her voice, you will know that, as a child, she was cradled in the arms of Poseidon.
And if you were to kiss her, your lips would taste the salt of her sweet tongue.
I imagine your voice to be quiet. Maybe even a little raspy. I imagine it is a dark sound that is surprisingly light on its feet. Now here. Now gone. Pirouetting, but in the shadows only.
I imagine yours is a voice that enters a room taciturnly. Nobody notices. But when it leaves, everyone stirs in a knowing that something has shifted, something has left. It is gone and the air is colder.
I imagine your voice is slow. How sweetly it hesitates to volunteer a sound.
There are worlds, entire universes, in one voice. Especially when it is a voice you come to love and recognize as belonging to you.
For a soundless mermaid draped as a dervish (in burgundy) – @sivirika
Image: The Little Mermaid by Annie Leibovitz