There are parts of me scattered everywhere. My feet were found in one Portland, my arms in another. I’m not the victim of some crazed slasher but rather my own undoing, like a tornado blasting a jigsaw puzzle. My thumbs turned up in Shreveport. My teeth, still a full set, thankfully, in Miami. Too many places, too many things, too willing to divide—I couldn’t keep it together.
For years I've felt, I’m falling apart. My heart not in San Francisco but Santa Fe. There’s word of my pancreas in Battle Creek. Hurry, I’m told, it’s about to be preserved in formaldehyde, shelved as a specimen alongside fetal pigs. I stumble across the map, recollecting myself one piece at a time. If you see a part unattached, please, hold onto it. I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.
The ending created a pitiable yet creepy figure. An interesting combination and it really worked nicely. This one will be on my mind for a while.
ReplyDeleteSo what happened? Or does it not matter? I like how the strewn body parts could both be a metaphor, i.e.; 'for years I've felt, I'm falling apart' and an actual representation, such as the liver being preserved in formaldehyde.
ReplyDeleteHow will I know it's his, and not one of mine?
ReplyDeleteI've got your back.
ReplyDelete