If only for a moment I want
you to remember that me and you
are nothing more than bodies--

the caverns of whale carcasses 
traversed by divers like rivers
to the life after this one--
I was a mermaid before
they cut off my tail
to make into sushi-- spun me
between sticky rice and nori--
sliced in hex-sign wheels
like a spinal column.

I like to think someday
they'll walk through my
body like a subway station
and mistake my ribs for
a cathedral whose
stained glass melted like
gum-drops and sinew.
Just so that they know
that someone wasn't supposed
to live here-- I have
been a plastic bag who sleeps
underneath the park bench.

So for today walk this
body with me-- I'll show you
where my legs grew back--
kiss me on the verandas 
of my vertebrae and we
can pretend there's still
stained glass-- catch a subway
to the life after this one
with me-- on a train with
hex-sign wheels and end up
pursed between the lips
of a whale.