Hannah Warren is an MFA student at the University of Kansas, and her works have appeared recently or will soon appear in Soundings East, Jet Fuel Review, and Spirit's Tincture. She often writes about death but hopes never to experience it.

Also by Hannah Warren: Three Poems Deeply Rooted Tangled Root

Hannah Warren

The Woman to the Doctor

I try to find my own spleen and wonder if it has bones that can crunch like clawed crabs under my skin. Pulsing ribs say my lungs can flip air into toxins, and the bluish black of my fingerprints molds my stomach into a jigsaw of puzzling skin while I push deeper to feel for life that could swirl deep beneath my body's membrane. Everyone knows when you swallow a watermelon seed, sprouts erupt in your belly and grow errant children who jostle on their vines, but I want to know what happens when I swallow a pill. If I blacken the vine with boiled tar, slick on the edges, will I grow green again? I want to know what happens if I choose a garden of violets, or turnips, or a library full of leather-bound editions instead of pastel, peeling wallpaper—tell me what happens when I grow twice my age, when all that's left is an empty cavity littered with bruises, when my pit over-ripens in hospital waiting rooms.

Lost & Found is published by Glass Poetry Press as part of Glass: A Journal of Poetry. This project publishes work that was accepted by journals that ceased publication before the work was released.
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