She lay before us, steeped in vapors of formalin, her body a sarcophagus that once contained a woman, bled dry of memories, name effaced.
We worked our scalpels tired through what remained— skin, sinew, wall of bone.
With atlases splayed open, we ventured beneath the surface.
The taking apart was easy— artifacts inventoried to piece together history, rotated in light, arranged to fit on metal trays, displayed as sum of parts.
Under the glare of lamps we mapped cranial lakes, traced the alveolar labyrinth, scaled the spinal scaffold to reach cavities untouched by sunlight where we plucked what had withered on arterial vines— womb that battled a clock, heart that raced under caress or fear now motionless
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