Bone to Pick

I died in the backyard last night

Laid lifeless on a bed of grass

My throat clawed out and the dog growling

A man brags about how he “killed a bitch”

And you don’t even flinch

I buried my screams in the sweat-stained floral sheets

He dug a pit in my stomach

With his push and shove, the shovel and the stick

You throw the dog a bone

Wishing you could have a taste of your own

I made it out of the grave by the skin of my teeth

Years later, there’s still bits of my skin stuck between his teeth

I know one day my story will just be something for you to chew on

You let the dogs run wild 

Just to see what they bring home

A man plants girls’ heads in the dirt below

And marvels as his garden grows

You make him a killer turned icon

Vying for a better view

Look at you

Pawing at the prison bars

Drooling over confession tapes

Inhabiting your dark curiosities from the comfort of home

While the dogs are still digging up the bones 

Of the dead to play with

And I’m the bitch?

—Fabienne de Cartier, 2024