Jane Doe - Under The Moon

and they've been looking and looking for me (i think) searching

everywhere, up and down the woods and fields, all day,

and through the better part of the night

shining their big fat flashlights, here, there, and everywhere

between the ghosts of ancient trees and dense undergrowth,

while here i am, (wait, what? where's the rest of me!?!) lying

flat on my back on the grass in this secluded thicket,

under this… moon

(strange how i can't touch anything i am… so… airy;

things… so far and yet so near… it's giddy)

i'm screaming for help at the top

of my lungs until i'm hoarse; but of course,

they're all glassed in, inside their own heads

(or, it might be the chorus of crickets

in the bushes drowning me out)

it's impossible these folks don't see my eyeballs -

round white pebbles with black spots painted in the center,

glaring wide up at a

sourdough moon (pitted with yellow mould)

there i am! my pale cheeks, lips parted,

my cold, stony shoulders,

the gleaming arms akimbo -

the rising swell of my breasts, the curves of my slim

waist; the little hollow beneath my ribs - my legs?

where in HELL...?

oh, there they are… but WHY am i floating like this…

what the fuck is happening to me…

they can't see (and i can??)

the glistening pitch-black pool spreading slowly all around

like a dark viscous halo around my body, under my head,

and through my hair in clumps

the moonlight pouring all over like

stale honey hides the inky fluid welling up from the incision that

slicing the softness of my clitoris,

slashing the crease of my groin (i bled out in minutes? fuck!),

travels up the soft curve of my belly, moves further up and slits my navel, 

then carving out my poor womb and guts,

cuts open my midriff, pushes through my breastbone,

hacks open my slender throat, up my right jaw and ends in a

long gash on my right cheek

nothing but a thickness pressing

as much beneath the skin of my mind

as upon it, and oozing psoriatic lesions,

itching, burning, spreading and

receding, in waves

and all the while the long, slim,

surgical knife grinning in the grass beside

[but maybe, just maybe - it's not their fault they can't see,

for the bottom half of me, 

severed clean from the waist,

is lying several feet away under

that fallen tree trunk:

they'll put me together, no doubt,

in the morning, like a

giant jigsaw puzzle!]