after a photo by Nicola Constantino
Tenderly, roseate, she stands amidst steer
carcass wings. Split vertebrae, fascia, fat,
lift delicate lace behind her cameo face. She
pities me as I drink in beauteous slaughter.
Her full breasts and round belly call eye and
hand. I wonder if she is cold, how her
nostrils do not flare at the charnel.
Disgusted, I cannot look away. I know, she
seems to say. Such a fine line between
horror and beauty.
Devon Balwit is a teacher/poet living in Portland, OR. She has two chapbooks—How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press) and Forms Most Marvelous (forthcoming with dancing girl press). Her recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in: The Cincinnati Review, The Almagre Review, The Stillwater Review, The Tule Review, Red Earth Review, The Aeolian Harp Folio Anthology, The Free State Review, Front Door, Cease Cows, Peacock Journal, and Eunoia Review.