Upon Watching the Murder of Another Woman in a Crime Scene Drama,


I am amazed at how lovely

a corpse can be made

to look. Slight arc


of the neck, of the arms.

How the hands, purple now, curl

just so, how the toes


point as if she might

begin to dance. Precision

in the woman


cut down. I think

of Emily, killed months ago

in a subway tunnel,


left whole somehow

by passing trains.

It was twelve hours


before anyone noticed her

beside the tracks, so small

she could have been


mistaken for an animal

that got in someone’s way.


Photo by Galaxies and Hurricanes


About Author

Michelle Reed is a Michigan native working as a freelance writer and editor in Chicago. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Split Lip Magazine, Watershed Review, Lunch Ticket, and The Smoking Poet, among others. She has an MA in English from Bucknell University.

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