The Mansion

It all changed

when the daughters of  men

began giving birth to us.

We had no hair.

Our mothers held us

against their thick hair.

It tickled our throats

as we suckled.

There were more and more and more

of us.

The hairy said,

“We want your smooth.”

We said,

“We want your hairy.”

We all wept

because no one

had what they wanted.

We escaped more and more

to the beach.

The hairy hated water

but it was different for us.

Our hips swiveled

as we climbed

deeper and deeper.

We held our breath.

We told our hairy families

that we belonged in the water.

They clutched at us.

One day

one of us

found it.

Our first pearl.

So smooth.

So strong.

So perfect.

We raked our fingers

through the sea bottom.

We stuffed coral with pearls

and molded it.

Among the seaweed and shells

our mansion rose.

One day

one of us

went back to the shore.

She showed

a pearl to them.

They said,

“We will give you

five bags of hair.”

Some of  us became traders

while the rest built.

The more magnificent our mansion became

the more pearls they wanted.

They said to our traders,

“We will give you

ten bags of hair for each pearl.”

Our traders brought back

bags and bags of hair.

We raced

through our winding passageways

to deposit the bags.

We loved rubbing along

our smooth bumpy walls.

Food grew on our walls

and we suckled the pearls.

We kissed.

Some of our bellies grew

into enormous pearls.

Some of  our babies

were hairy yet so slick!

Then we found

fewer and fewer pearls.

We raked the sea bottom

farther and farther away.

The traders pressed for more.

They pressed and pressed and pressed.

We convened

and said no.

Some of our traders said,

“But we have to have hair!”

We laughed and said,

“For what?”

Then we found

a hollowed-out wall.

Another wall swayed loose.

And in our storage cavern

hair began seeping

out of the bags.

Hair crawled

all over our walls.

Suckling the pearls,

hair got into our mouths.

Kissing,

hair got in between our lips.

We awoke

with strands around our necks.

We tore them off.

We gathered hair off

our precious walls.

We told the thieves,

“Stop bringing back hair!”

But they could not help it.

They stole more pearls

and returned with more bags.

They said,

“We must do it.”

They said,

“The world demands it.”

They said,

“Hair is the only way.”

We convened

and decided.

Thirty-two thousand years later

bubbles of our laughter

still rise.

A few

still sell pearls

and wonder where we are.