June 27, 2012
I tell my mother to donate my body to science when I die.
She says, “You want strangers poking around in there?”
Yes, they would see my pelvic bones, perfectly heart-shaped.
They would notice something in the musculature of my shoulders,
pointing a gloved finger at my neck. They might say,
“This pearl of muscle proves that she was waiting for something.”
In the marled gray of my frontal lobe, a secret waits to bloom.
Kelly Scott is a graduate of the University of Baltimore's MFA in Creative Writing & Publishing Arts. Her work has appeared in Urbanite, Dogzplot, Short, Fast, and Deadly and other fine places. She teaches writing in Baltimore.