Girl in Pieces

There are men here and I want them to finish up and go. I’m not done. Could you please leave me until I’m done? I need to cut myself away piece by piece until there is nothing left.

I wish the men would stop talking. I wish the men would stop crying. I wonder why the men are crying.

—

The warmth of a wet washcloth. The smear of ointment. The clean smell and gentle press of medicated gauze, the zip of white tape. The men are no longer crying. There is a woman now. She is not my mother.

—

I wish I could open my eyes.

I don’t want to open my eyes.

I hear the sound of crying again and now I recognize that it’s me, I am crying.