no, she is not a beached clam.
yet she lays there
legs spread apart as for a rape,
as for some kind of lewd exhibitionism.
we inspect her with a stick.
she does not laugh or gag,
or kick her legs in wild fury
the hairs of her crotch curl in a fever
she is all woman, up to her torso.
or rather, a fish with legs

mermaid, right?
well, she should have shoulders
and two breasts,
nipples to latch on to,
a curve in the back
to rest an arm on,
that's what we should expect, right?
not some glimmering deity
washed upon our shores,
who is missing a fin,
whose eyes are like marble,
whose silence invites us.

or maybe she grew legs
and was caught somewhere in between,
limping pitifully towards human kind,
maybe she forgot the magic words
or how to put the terrible waters
of the atlantic behind her.
quite possibly,
the only things that flashed through her mind
when she knew she could not breathe
were silver and darkness.