how strange it is. how fragile, wobbling watery yolk in my palm ribs bending between my fingers like pipe cleaners scattering blood onto a sanitized tray
how strange to imagine its first stirrings, moth wings wedged between slumped lungs, foetal halfthoughts that never grasped the taste of oxygen |
what was it? a cleft between atria, dented ventricles, a concave pericardium squashed like a soccer ball on wet grass? what smothered you when you came into the open air?
did you kick? did you squeal? or were you lifeless like this melting marble of a heart? |
Figure 1. Dissection of a Piglet’s Heart
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