Report from the Skinhouse
I went looking for the body. The apple, tree, the river. Gliding voice, curve of arm, pearly blue uterus. Muscled calf, the neptune green eye, blood with the same taste as mine. Why do I write my report this way? An adopted child needs to find a face. What does a real mother's body look like? River, chalkline, bloody cave? I am replica of nothing. birthmother, conjurer, boneshaker, witch, let me smell your skin just once, I'll give you your bloody daughter.
Copyright © 2001 by Jan Beatty. Reprinted by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.