Mermaids at Tashlikh

by Sonya Taaffe

for Shoshana Stern

At the shoreline, prayer roughens the water
like wind: where sweet interlocks with salt,

footsteps fill; names trodden into sand
darker than deserts, crumbs like apologies

scattered to the elements: sins for the sea
to take apart. At the tideline, the snap

of shells underfoot and sun-bleached weed,
stones cast ashore as clean and polished

as contrition: word-familiar, worn easy,
intractable, that no litany will dissolve.

Let lie ashore, the littoral between sea
and land: between desire and drowning,

healing and hurt; between bread and stones.