easter sunday mass inside a whale carcass

some people pay for jesus.
my boyfriend took me to an easter service
inside a purse. all the ladies 
sang like their voices were dimes.
i stood & dreamed of oceans. a place
to sink deep enough that god might be possible.
a collection basket with legs. beetles 
crawling from beneath an altar.
on the ocean floor, pale opal-eyed fish
travel for miles in search of worship.
the whale, whose heart was once a city,
now a corredor of emptying. his eyes 
dead light bulb planets. all the divinity 
he found in his travels. speaking softly
to giant squids. pulling lines of scripture 
from the sweep of the sand. 
wild as i am, i have never let myself sink.
sometimes i tie weights to me feet
& stand on the lip of a drain 
thinking maybe today will be when
i get to plummet. i am fearful. not of deep
but of holy & that there might not 
be the grandness i was promised. 
in my boyfriend's church they fed us sugar.
repeated the word "saved" as if it were
a speach act. crustaceans bring their eyes.
clip flesh from the church's body.
bones clutching bones. the ceilings 
with their white salt-ridden flesh.
this kind of glory only happens 
with distance from the sun. 
show me your darkness & i will show you
decay. earth force-feeding herself.
the fishes hymns as they work. 
they do not know lent is ending.
god will not rise, he will sink & sink. 

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