Ode to the Silent Teacher
Eva Scheibe
In hindsight, I don't know why I
expected you wouldn’t have your
nails painted and why I didn’t
anticipate the way the crack
of your skull cap popping off would
reverberate throughout my entire
body and settle in my gut and how
you look less and less like a person
every time we unzip the body bag.
I don’t quite know why I thought
I would be the same person after I
rummaged around in a dead woman's
chest or how your flesh could give
way to fact so gracefully or that
your silence could be so deafening.
