Chapter Text
Day 1: Yoshida
DISSECTION
The first incision takes seconds. You are hardly aware that you are breathing. It goes from left to right, and you learnt to read when you were this small, learnt it all smiling, all by heart.
You cut out the organ carefully and paste it in your scrapbook to admire. It bleeds at its edges,
as does most print. The paper is very white; the dog’s heart beats steadily on the right hand page
and you wait until it shudders, draws out a rustling inhale, comes to a stop.
The page turn feels lighter than ever. You start again, from the left, ink learning its way onto your hands, between your fingers, into dark spots on your cheeks.
Your father tells you that you must be mad. You laugh with your airless lungs and think about both your hearts tightly ironed into scrapbook and say: Oh, I must be.