Doe,

a deer, a female deer.

My body washed up on a cold metal table. 

A freshly born Fawn; they named Jane. 

The only one who knew the shape of my organs, 

plucked the knife from my heart for her husband. 

He swiped his tongue down the blade to lick up the blood

and told her it taste like sour plums. 

One person came to view the dear with no lungs. 

They were stashed away in our house; forgotten. 

She looked at my corpse the way she looked at my lungs. 

Her false, amused laugh striking bone. 

Her voice, disrupted, as she touched my antlers. 

No, she never met any deer. 

Without knowing souls,

they sliced up this fawn. 

Blew up my body with chemicals to embalm me. 

Set me up in a broke down white church. 

A little wood box - open casket. 

And the people: they came. 

And the people: they cried. 

Only now would they recognize me.