MELISSA KOOSMANN

After Science

All afternoon, Susie imagines her goldfish
chopped in half on a wooden board.

Her mother open from neck to navel, freckled skin
peeled back and pinned down—thick pins

three inches long. The neighbors, who never
pull the curtains, frozen in the missionary position and sliced

down the middle, their split sides falling right
and left on the bed, their halved mouths

still open from the last gasp. There are instructions
for you to follow. Diagrams for you

to label, arrows to draw. Know your world.