by Luz Castaneda
A Postmortem
Slice the apples.
Stay with the apples.
Apples are not autopsies.
This flesh is firm and sweet,
existent
without postmortem,
without ceaseless inquiry.
I am the coroner,
thought a blade.
Cutting you cleanly,
weighing your parts.
My rummage sale pile,
bits of broken clocks.
You will never tick again.
I remember you alive
but entombed.
Forgive me.
I am Dr. Frankenstein,
an abject failure.
Late into the evenings
I pore over my creation,
cartoonish and inanimate.
Forgive me.
I was trying not to notice
that you were so alone.
Stitches bind us both,
threads of my rumination.
I cut them to begin again.
I cannot succeed.
Will you know
that I tried.
Will you know
you were never
alone.
Laura Sminchak’s poems have appeared in publications such as From Whispers to Roars and Cathexis Northwest Press, among others. She lives in Ohio and is a licensed attorney. She spends her time adventuring with her young children and jumping into rabbit holes. You can find her on Instagram at @laura_writes_words.
Luz Castaneda was born in Brazil to Brazilian and Spanish parents. Since 2014, she has been living and working as an artist in NYC. She is a self-taught artist, a biologist, Ph.D. in Genetics, educator and researcher in the sacred language of nature. Her research and artwork are a combination of her artistic soul and scientific mind. Her art has been exhibited in multiple galleries in the United States and Brazil. www.luzcastaneda.com.