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      July 29, 2017MuseumErin O’Malley

      You uncarved me, turned my body
      inside out. Against your knife
      skin ribboned. Peeling scraps of
      flesh unwrapped my body, a museum.
      I was irresistible. You said jutting
      hips begged skin to unpeel. Hollows
      pleaded to become one.
      Believed bones were too alluring to go
      unseen. I felt my heart strike, beat
      at my chest. Beg for ribs
      to crack, for veins and arteries to web.
      Did you decide I was leaving
      you? Think you could stuff memories of me
      inside myself? Open me and find a prize? You said
      I was someone who belonged
      everywhere. Buried pieces of me
      in each country. My lost bones are exiles
      belonging only to the nation
      of my body. My dried veins are a bouquet
      on my grave. You had kept them like flower stems
      in a vase. Whispered apologies,
      how you couldn’t help
      but hold my heart in your hands.
      Pitiful, the man who thinks
      the living are more beautiful dead.

      from 2017 RYPA

      Erin O’Malley (age 14)

      Why do you like to write poetry?

      “I want the words to melt the iron in your blood.”