aquamarine

My father was a sailor
Who loved the raging sea
I think it was Saint Thomas
Who waved from the parallel quay.
I was not yet a mermaid,
Though soon I would swim in saline,
My father contemplated a son
Whose eyes were like aquamarine.
But he got me, a daughter, instead
With eyes like the raging sea.
I wonder if he thought of it, then,
When he sailed from the parallel quay.