Body Mapping
This is me in my skin.
I can pinpoint
each bit on a drawing,
a diagram, an autopsy slab.

I drew air in
to the crook of each rib
somewhere in it
you are speaking —

a snatch of your voice hooks
between cavity
and lung.
It hums,

against my bones.
I rattle off a sentence,
the pathologist listens

gives his opinion.

Abegail Morley

If you have any comments on this poem,  Abegail Morley would be pleased to hear from you.