Birch Wiley

On Election Day My Latest STI Test Comes Back Negative

after Noah Baldino

Halved, the body might resemble a geode,
crystalline glisten after dirt. That is,
of course, until it rots. A purple stone
brought home to dry gray on the windowsill.
On the train home I wonder, if I open
myself, would yellow, white, all shades blue and red
surprise me? What hides in our confused blood?
On the roadside, a deer blossoms beyond fur,
bright as skins of apples, plums. Traffic stops,
a vulture finds her, and we are reminded
the body is not stone. I watch
a while the most natural thing, the only
truth of the body, a meal. The vulture eats.