This story is paired with Chapter XXII of Bulfinch’s Mythology. For best experience, download the LithoReader for your iPhone or iPad and get NonBinary Review for free.
Drunk with too much thinking, I was flick
and dive and sole, skimming the lake bed.
If he had held an eel in his charming
hand and felt the coil. If he had heard me
singing as the mist rose from the boats.
If I were wrapped in white, if I had let him
take my head in his hands and bend me back
perhaps I might have come up redeemed.
Instead, I rose sleek and streaming—fresh
water has never successfully taken my
legs or scaled my skin but sometimes it is
all I can manage. Besides, I have never
bothered with myth—I have been too busy
shrinking my bones, fusing my muscle.
Ruth Foley lives in Massachusetts, where she teaches English for Wheaton College. Her work appears in Redheaded Stepchild, The Bellingham Review, Yemassee, and Sou’wester, among others, and her chapbook Dear Turquoise is available from Dancing Girl Press. She serves as Managing Editor for Cider Press Review.