Rigid yet smooth edges curve so elegantly,

Spiraling like a silk tornado.

Round and round,

Tighter and tighter.

 

For 3 years’ puberty takes over;

Growing 15 centimeters long

And 5 millimeters thick,

Now a Queen.

 

Ah, the Tritons idolized your deep angelic roar.

The Buddha’s holy water, stored in your sacred cup.

Hung as a pendant on old African women.

Shaped into tools for domestic work.

 

Carried and pulled under for endless years,

Growing thicker as the storms slammed on your growing bones.

A cycle of give and take,

Crash and roll.

 

Like a slow tan, your pale surface turns brown and dark,

Your inner core fades into a faint blushed cheek.

Your horn grows long and wide,

And your waist thins out into a rounded tip.

 

When you are held to an ear,

Only the ear can hear

The waves that crashed down

And formed your horn.