At dawn, ex-mermaids bring chilled bottles of Prosecco and long-stemmed, crystal champagne glasses, to toast the sea foam.
Dressed in pastel, chiffon, cocktail-length prom dresses, they congregate on the glistening sand. Their toes are painted like sugar cookies and their newly waxed legs smell of cocoa butter.
As the sun rises at the ocean’s edge, they stand, toes touching the sea foam, and arms wrapped around each other’s waist. With lips slightly curled, they sigh in an ancient language that long lured the weary sailor.
A vertical wrinkle, grown out of a lingering sadness, has trenched between their periwinkle eyes — a fixed mark, forever reminding them of what they used to be…and of the tails they left behind.