My raisin eyes, the lure of angler fish street lamps
and being eaten in the dark

Was it you who told
me that people are like
moths-- only we can swim 
a little better-- hold our
breath while we sink deeper
and deeper-- bend gills and
peel off cellophane skin to
reveal the Halloween faces we 
were born with-- we weren't made
for sidewalks or legs--
do you remember worrying about
the bottom falling out of the
kiddie pool? Were you swallowed you 
underneath? We are
born with a fear of water lungs 
and yet we eat enough stones
to sink even with these 
legs kicking and thrash 
to be human.
To be human is to tread water.
We are mid ocean. We are fished by 
King crab nets-- thrown back with 
the swordfish. Make love in a kelp forest
between the images we meet of ourselves
entangled in thighs of kelp--
I have always
found a home among night lights--
making shadow puppets across
a dim bed room wall while
my father kept watch so 
that I wouldn't turn back into
an angler fish again before I went to sleep--
we kept holy water on the book
shelf next to the saint cards
and tired rosary beads hanging
from the trees of kelp--
You told me you once met
an angler fish from your
windowsill. Told me that
she would come by after Thanksgiving
when your mother started baking for Christmas.
She liked the faces of the gingerbread men.
Ate the raisin eyes while no one was looking--
You told me she's lonely down there.
She mistakes the shadows of
porcelain coral for her past lovers--
follows ghost crustaceans back and
forth and back and forth over
the same abyssal alley way--
kicks coke bottles and gives elegies 
over the occasional whale carcass--
And only she can hear their 
thick water born throats
calling "dust is dust 
is dust is sand is water"
She lights candles with her lamp post
to mourn for their bodies and the 
crabs who gnaw away at their flesh--
tells the crustaceans that she's hungry 
but doesn't want to eat them--
Tells them she'd rather eat a human--
she had learned from the gingerbread men
that humans are sweet and unnaturally dazzling--
carry the sun flecks in their eyes--
The crabs don't run anymore and 
they just embrace her bioluminescence--
mistake her light for their own mothers 
or for a tiny portal to enter into
the body of a human again-- they imagine
legs and being able to tread water-- 
imagine raisin eyes and Christmas.
She thinks about other angler fish
and wonders why they all decide to be alone.
She wants a human for a lover
and I elected to sink for her-- and for
her alone. This is not self-sacrifice--
this is where I was always meant to be--
they couldn't keep the kiddie pools
from turning into trenches--
I gave my legs to my father who
had already walked so many nightlights 
to keep me human-- this was inevitable.
They always knew I was a lesbian 
but they didn't know that I 
would be caught by the lure 
of angler fish girls--
met her underneath a street lamp--
where she told me I smelled like
gingerbread men-- asked me if my eyes
were raisins-- if I was made
from pieces of the sun--
She told me what the whales
said when they were assumed into heaven
that dust is dust is dust
And I agree. I agreed that all 
anyone ever wanted was a nightlight--
she said she was tired of it because
nightlights mean nothing without
lovers-- 
I told her she could eat me but
only if we did it in the dark--
this was not a nightlight 
kind of love-- only the abyssal alleys
know reverence is measured
in the throats of whales-- 
If she was so lonely she should
have stayed by the windowsills--
the good thing about Christmas
is that it's round and always
coming back-- a nightlight
to paint shadows on the kelp forest--
she ate my body-- sweet and 
ginger-- ate my legs I left with my 
father and stalked the windowsill
that December when she
was still so hungry-- empty
belly of ghost crustaceans.