Laying out

Talya draws underbellies. Sideshow freaks, twisted anatomies, missing limbs. Today, she brought a thrush home. It was lying in the street; invisible, stepped over. I think about how many times she’ll have to look at it, how closely she’ll study it, sighing and decomposing while she pencils in tiny patterns on feathers, shades rigor mortis claws.

I’m drawing dancers. Sketching quickly. Curve of an arm, hint of a smile. Page after page, waiting. The light.

She makes me shower before she’ll let me into bed.