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Field Dressing// Sarah Young

Bare knees kneeling,
Wood grain patterns impressed red in the skin,
I scooped items out from under the bed,
Hands not gloved but bone pale.
Field dressing,
Stubborn scissors slice through belly,
Lift the frilly bedskirt,
Organs fresh and whole
Become revolting when they're orphaned
And brought into the light,
Quivering and slick,

I stacked the tins of polaroids and old birthday cards,
Lock-jawed grins emerging from the dark,
Skeletal limbs enclosed in a pellet, a locket,
The muddled contents of the stomach,
Whisper-thin necklace chains tangled,
Crocheted blanket folded,
Skin-cell dust and hair not the color of mine
Nestled in the knots and nooks,
Sachets lost their scent,

And there was the trophy-heart,
A message in quick ink on ripped paper,
Delicate but durable, like a light bulb shard,
or ragged fingernail scythes, or long blond hairs laced between fingers.
From you for me,
How you were for me.
How were you?
I didn't know.