Autopsy

We thought she was spawning,
ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.
The sky forsakes me.
Her eyes caught the moon.
The water’ll take care of the rest.
I kept trying to hum, but
ripples moving inward.
ᴄʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ: ᴡᴏᴏʟ ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ᴛᴏʀɴ.
Tossed her in the river.
The surface broke wrong,
I grew new shapes to fit the wet,
She struggled, but wool soaks fast.
We nested in the threads.
And forgot to return it.
ᴇʏᴇʟɪᴅꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴏᴘᴇɴ; ᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴀꜱ ᴏᴘᴀǫᴜᴇ.
She didn’t want to see the sky.
I remember the warmth most,
swelling with new life.
But the flesh kept floating away.
How it pulled apart.
ꜱᴋɪɴ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛꜱ ᴀᴄᴄᴇʟᴇʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴍᴏʀᴛᴇᴍ ʙʟᴏᴀᴛɪɴɢ.
There’s no music here.
My eyes were impregnated with light.
Something earthen stole her breath.
ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

© 2025 N.S. Graven
| Image by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash