s k i n
By Rebecca Havens
She is dancing by the entrance. Graceful, slow-then-fast; even Helen can neither compete nor look away.
Drinking in the shadows, I imagine all the shapes violence comes in, collectively stomping her meat into the pavement. I am one with the darkness—but I swear, I can see each layer of skin even through this candlelight, even from across the room, even with her flitting about this place, hip bones on full display. I will painstakingly peel, layer by layer like an onion, to form small arrays of flesh, penetrable by the light.
I will hang them up to create monotone papel picado. Sheet by sheet spread onto my windowpane until it consumes the sunlight that tries to come through the door to disturb this dark romance. How is there so much skin unraveled? How is there so much skin still on her? Spread as thin as a whisper across mountaintops, I could cover the vast seafloor with her remnants. A declaration of some sort. Man makes meaning out of fluff; so I will construct meaning out of this pastime as well.
Dermis, thicker. Slowly, would-be tenderly, unearthing filthy filmy sacrifices to a god I do not believe in. Lung tas claiming stake to this apartment, to these long plank floors and its dust-catching corners, just as I am claiming stake to her.
To love is a craft—but so is it to hate.
Tissue, fat, muscle, that fleshy softness and her blood. Spreading, spreading, I cover my desk, my best coffee mugs, my trash can and the sink in the vacant parts.
I Sweeney Todd her innards, mixing her meat with other meats to create a bouquet of unmatched delicacy. Potluck indeed.
And a heart. I want to pour resin over this heart, I want to taxidermy it and keep it close. I want to whittle wood into its likeness. I want to create an altar to this grim offering.
Next time you tell me “boys will be boys,” I will smile my mischievous smile, drop my head, and nod to acknowledge this sin.
Rebecca Havens is a happy person. They work in the political space. They mostly write fiction and poetry, but adore everything.
Photo credit: Christian y Sergio Velasco via a Creative Commons license.
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