i developed autopsy photos, acting as death’s hyperoptic
eye. on my screen, a woman with an amputated right
leg, cleaved just superior to the knee. her torso yielded a
Y incision that began under each second rib, met mid
sternum, and ended near the pubic synthesis.
her dulling husk was held together by taut thread which
made the adipose erupt from the fissure, and push out like
jaundice fingers from within her torso; the way a cicada
emerges from its shell. her trimmed pubic hair showed
that she had better plans than laying on surgical steel, naked,
photographed, measured, and taken apart like an old puzzle.
i sat back, indenting my computer chair as my
breathing slowed and gravity doubled on me,
jealous of all the attention
she was receiving.