Dream the Sea Shanty #27

Gathered six-deep around a ship's 
    fire-pit, the witches were harmonizing
first like a wind, then like a storm.

No one asked me to sing, throat
   gone packed-black with shame
I knew I was a low-rung among sirens.

Then, some snake in the gut made
  me try it, rough as it was, too tight
in the lung: more shake than song.

By the third chorus, I soothed myself 
  like a stranger said, Sing like you're alone, 
and I cried and cried until I did.