Organ Donation

I write paeans to her ruptured head,
Its clots and bruises vanished now for good,

The shadow where her torso used to be,
The gush of blood that marred her lower limbs —
Not this steel prosthesis, silver dust,
This hallmark of an oracle, the sheets
Around herself, the scent of chloroform
That stains her now as holy, harvested.

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