SOUTH SEAS' SIRENS
The Federated States of Micronesia are located in the region known as Micronesia, which consists of hundreds of small islands divided in eight territories. The term Micronesia may refer to the Federated States or to the region as a whole.
I wore the shirt of a thousand nipples, a soft cotton shirt, all puckered. It draped over my breasts accentuating gargantuan on this island of little people who only ate bananas, 14 different kinds, and fish. I was large and white. They were Lilliputian and dark. It was as if a female Jonathan Swift had arrived among them. I tried to fit in by wearing the jewelry Micronesian friends had given me. My earrings were aqua feathers flying down to my shoulders like tropical birds and I wore three strands of beads the colors of the sea—deep blue, aqua and amber. I wore jingly bracelets too, although would have to shed them in order to cast out my fishing line. The other four women also wore earrings and necklaces, even sparkly-gemmed rings. We all wore bright red lipstick looking as if we were variations on Warhol’s silk-screened Marilyn Monroes. On this island it was believed that women must lure the fish with their beauty.
The five of us fish
in Micronesia. But we are one woman
We have
Marilyn’s lipsticked face
her breezy flighty self
We are
multiplied-- five sirens
stamped and printed
Icons of power and sex appeal.
The men were competitive with each other but not with us. “Big fish today, marlin, Buddy, only marlin.” They ignored us, even the captain of our boat had continuously scoffed at our attempts. If I tore off my nippled shirt, I could not seduce a one of them. Captain Dave sneered at our past attempts. But I was serious this time, not content to lounge on a small island, catch lobster, eat, smoke and sing. I had spent 50 dollars on lures. I wanted to test the waters, see if the five of us could catch a marlin. I wasn’t competitive, but when men push me to the wall it’s as if I have the milk of all mothers to give and give.
On this island, I was the outsider but always felt comfortable in that role, coming here on a writing grant, to help all the eighteen year-olds qualify for an entry to an Australian university. It was not easy to move the writing from wooden and programmed to alive and honest. They didn’t get me so to speak. Unless I did slapstick, they did not laugh at my jokes. I was always tripping or losing my glasses or stumbling backwards to break the ice. I had pulled in the women at least but the men were more difficult: shy, aloof and wary. I didn’t know if catching a fish would change all that but I might as well try.
When I felt the pull, I didn’t know what to expect but I was proud and scared. I called over the others for help. Our earrings clanked and clattered. We were so close to the line, holding and pulling, that I was afraid we would be hooked at the ears. Five beautiful faces tied together as if we were some collaged art to be hung in Captain D’s fish shack. But despite the earrings, we managed to lure the fish to the boat. This wasn’t sight fishing, what some men say is the only kind of fishing that women should do, the easy letting out of the line when a woman sees a fish, then the pull and the yield, a woman’s way of being in the fishing game. Oh no. This fish would take strength, all of ours. A huge sailfish, we could see. When he got to the side of the boat, I held him up by his sword and Debora held him by his head and we cut off his lifeline.
Sailfish are blue to grey in color and have a characteristic erectile dorsal fin known as a sail, which often stretches the entire length of the back. Another notable characteristic is the elongated bill, resembling that of the swordfish and other marlins.
We pulled our buddy overboard ourselves. And could not believe what we saw, witnessed, knew. We had caught the largest sailfish ever in Micronesia! And this isn’t a tall tale, a fishy story. I have the photos as proof.
On shore, we were not met with applause, no journalists reporting for the evening news. But I removed my puckered shirt and the other women bared their breasts too. We stayed on board, adoring our sailfish, our beautiful silver sailfish, admiring its once large erectile fin now slack in its dying. We photographed each other, tossing all our earrings, millions of feathers and beads, in aquas, corals, emerald, deep blues, and even the murky amber-- all the colors of the sea, to cover our catch, to honor him. We were as silent as the men, but our silence confirming what we did. We women had caught the biggest fish ever caught in Micronesia.
Five women lean over the boat
Pose like pinups.
Letting the breeze
carry their skirts and scarves
Letting them
float and hum like sirens over the warm sea.
Marilyn sang Happy Birthday to Jack,
and we sing to the sailfish,
King of the oceans.
The powerful always appear by beauty’s side
The Sailfish hears our song-- See, See, See this and us
Let it be stamped on silk
Let it be said---These five, these sexy sirens lipsticked up
That one, this one, that one, this one
Caught
the biggest fish ever in these South Seas.
I wore the shirt of a thousand nipples, a soft cotton shirt, all puckered. It draped over my breasts accentuating gargantuan on this island of little people who only ate bananas, 14 different kinds, and fish. I was large and white. They were Lilliputian and dark. It was as if a female Jonathan Swift had arrived among them. I tried to fit in by wearing the jewelry Micronesian friends had given me. My earrings were aqua feathers flying down to my shoulders like tropical birds and I wore three strands of beads the colors of the sea—deep blue, aqua and amber. I wore jingly bracelets too, although would have to shed them in order to cast out my fishing line. The other four women also wore earrings and necklaces, even sparkly-gemmed rings. We all wore bright red lipstick looking as if we were variations on Warhol’s silk-screened Marilyn Monroes. On this island it was believed that women must lure the fish with their beauty.
The five of us fish
in Micronesia. But we are one woman
We have
Marilyn’s lipsticked face
her breezy flighty self
We are
multiplied-- five sirens
stamped and printed
Icons of power and sex appeal.
The men were competitive with each other but not with us. “Big fish today, marlin, Buddy, only marlin.” They ignored us, even the captain of our boat had continuously scoffed at our attempts. If I tore off my nippled shirt, I could not seduce a one of them. Captain Dave sneered at our past attempts. But I was serious this time, not content to lounge on a small island, catch lobster, eat, smoke and sing. I had spent 50 dollars on lures. I wanted to test the waters, see if the five of us could catch a marlin. I wasn’t competitive, but when men push me to the wall it’s as if I have the milk of all mothers to give and give.
On this island, I was the outsider but always felt comfortable in that role, coming here on a writing grant, to help all the eighteen year-olds qualify for an entry to an Australian university. It was not easy to move the writing from wooden and programmed to alive and honest. They didn’t get me so to speak. Unless I did slapstick, they did not laugh at my jokes. I was always tripping or losing my glasses or stumbling backwards to break the ice. I had pulled in the women at least but the men were more difficult: shy, aloof and wary. I didn’t know if catching a fish would change all that but I might as well try.
When I felt the pull, I didn’t know what to expect but I was proud and scared. I called over the others for help. Our earrings clanked and clattered. We were so close to the line, holding and pulling, that I was afraid we would be hooked at the ears. Five beautiful faces tied together as if we were some collaged art to be hung in Captain D’s fish shack. But despite the earrings, we managed to lure the fish to the boat. This wasn’t sight fishing, what some men say is the only kind of fishing that women should do, the easy letting out of the line when a woman sees a fish, then the pull and the yield, a woman’s way of being in the fishing game. Oh no. This fish would take strength, all of ours. A huge sailfish, we could see. When he got to the side of the boat, I held him up by his sword and Debora held him by his head and we cut off his lifeline.
Sailfish are blue to grey in color and have a characteristic erectile dorsal fin known as a sail, which often stretches the entire length of the back. Another notable characteristic is the elongated bill, resembling that of the swordfish and other marlins.
We pulled our buddy overboard ourselves. And could not believe what we saw, witnessed, knew. We had caught the largest sailfish ever in Micronesia! And this isn’t a tall tale, a fishy story. I have the photos as proof.
On shore, we were not met with applause, no journalists reporting for the evening news. But I removed my puckered shirt and the other women bared their breasts too. We stayed on board, adoring our sailfish, our beautiful silver sailfish, admiring its once large erectile fin now slack in its dying. We photographed each other, tossing all our earrings, millions of feathers and beads, in aquas, corals, emerald, deep blues, and even the murky amber-- all the colors of the sea, to cover our catch, to honor him. We were as silent as the men, but our silence confirming what we did. We women had caught the biggest fish ever caught in Micronesia.
Five women lean over the boat
Pose like pinups.
Letting the breeze
carry their skirts and scarves
Letting them
float and hum like sirens over the warm sea.
Marilyn sang Happy Birthday to Jack,
and we sing to the sailfish,
King of the oceans.
The powerful always appear by beauty’s side
The Sailfish hears our song-- See, See, See this and us
Let it be stamped on silk
Let it be said---These five, these sexy sirens lipsticked up
That one, this one, that one, this one
Caught
the biggest fish ever in these South Seas.
BIO: Mary Leonard is an Associate of the Institute for Writing and Thinking at Bard College where she leads workshops for teachers and students. She has published three chapbooks of poetry at 2River and Pudding House and most recently at Antrim House Press. Her poems have appeared in many small journals like the Naugatuck Review and Hubbub. In addition to poetry, she regularly writes humorous articles and restaurant reviews for a local Dutchess County paper and hopes to find an agent soon for her novel Italian Ice.
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