The Facts of Your Body

I have an essay in Hippocampus Magazine

Your boi was published in her first literary magazine.

The day I received my mother’s autopsy I was only expecting her death certificate. I was half dressed in a black and red lace onesie, trying to decide between black-black or black-grey jeans, concealer dotted in the corners of my eyes, and a schmear of cream blush swatched out below my thumb knuckle.

my mother, Jessica, when she was 16 or 17

I was getting ready to see Janelle Monet at Red Rocks and I opened the email anyway, naturally. Once you start reading an autopsy it’s hard to stop.

I wrote that afternoon, pushing the clock to drain and rushed at the end to make sure I didn’t keep Anaya waiting. I was okay. I leaned over and looked at him as we drove out 6th and said matter of factly, I got my mom’s autopsy today and I read it. I’m okay. I just felt like you should know. We can unzip that another time.

Our relationship is good like that. A container of and a container for.

The processings I got down that day would later become a poem I wrote in Undercurrent workshop (a poetry workshop I attend every Friday that I love despite the fact I haven’t ever considered myself a poet), and eventually became this essay published in Hippocampus Magazine.

Your autopsy was performed at 9:20 a.m. on June 30, 2013. I was 25 years, 3 hours and 50 minutes old. It made me think of the times you woke me at exactly 5:30 a.m. on the day of my birth to tell me, “You were born exactly <insert years> ago today.”

You were born once too, you know.

You were here.

I had to look up the definition of “coffee ground emesis,” and instead of shuddering at the thought of blood-stained vomit surrounding your crown like a halo, I felt closer to you than I have in years.

What does that say about me? (contd)

I’m really fucking proud of this piece and I am so grateful to be able to share it with y’all.

You can read The Facts of Your Body here.

Biggest love,

AR