DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: My Body, by Averie Fraser

Lay me on the table and drain me of my blood. My carotid artery craves the cold, sweet sting of your scalpel. Pump be full of formaldehyde. Don’t forget the dye.

Massage me deep and tender, pushing blood out in broad stripes, chemicals in like bright stars.

Pierce me with your trocar, straight through my heart. My lungs, my bladder, my kidneys, and intestines. Destroy them. Take them all. Fill them with your fluids.

Close my eyes with eye caps lest I further see your face. Stitch my mouth shut lest I further speak against you. Plump my sunken features, pat some makeup on my skin—though amber as waves of grain and purple as mountain majesties, bruises are not welcome here.

Dress me in my Sunday best and place me in my casket for my family to see. Let them weep to the twinkling loop of piano music amidst stock footage of waves on a beach. Among the scent of flowers and lemon cleaner in a church I’d never been to they will mourn a woman not yet dead.

Let them grieve.

Let them cry.

Though my soul is not yet gone, my body may as well be.

I would have more rights if I were dead.