Sarah Katz

THE END OF THE ORDINARY BODY

 

After the accident,
I was redrawn as light,

my body a suit.

A blossom of blood
bursting from my feet.

Rupture gave way to bone,

salt-crusted skin.
Smoldered through me

like memory.

A gleam of tinsel
and rubber peeling away.

I couldn’t speak.

The sag of being.
The car’s fragmenting: a thief.

                                    
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