We seethe and breathe under
The bones and sinew of one
Loving Father and Friend: Michael Currows.
Through the remains
Of a dead man with two daughters
One is a doctor—who recently bought a home in Tysons,
Virginia: 955 Carters Grove Trail 30342.
through the dirt travel
They tell us the other will soon join her father in Savannah, Georgia:
The McClelland Cemetery, 430 Sparce Street 58793.
And we will eat her too.
This is home. This is food.
Born in the damp groin of one Mr. Currows
And raised on the summation of his seventy-six years of living.
Have you ever
Part of something larger than your little body?
Part of many somethings inside a larger body?
Moving in perfect rhythm
Methodically scooping flesh into your family’s flesh
Breathing and eating at the same time—a model machine
Until nothing but stark white
Lines that shoot through the dark remain.
We are clean.
You are the dirty ones.
We do not let you fester.
We do not let the disease feed.
We take you home:
Into us and
When we die—
Clean—the Earth is clean.
As clean as the bones we leave behind.
You are not alone in death.
At the end
We will be here for you.
And what a comforting thought is this:
Consumed by brothers and sisters
Angels come to reap you of your physical soul
The heavy weavings
Churned apart in stomachs
One separated into hundreds
Faith Cho is a sophomore at Penn and wants to major in English.