esprit - The University of Scranton

Deliverance
Jenn Lewis
Thursday afternoons I trudge
down cool green tile, sweating
a well-preserved funk
of unease. But curiosity
ripens each lungful of reek
before souring, checking
my stride at the door. I linger
while the teacher scoops
one from the tank—“what a beauty!”—
and serves it, raw. Fluid puddles
beneath an indifferent gaze.
I try not to stare back
as I arrange my immaculate
knives: inspection follows,
the body in rigor, so unlike
the bundles in movies and ads
and food packaging. I consider
means of setting pins, avoiding
almost-cloven hooves or squashed
hindquarters. Hairless,
its back rests slick beneath my fingers.
They prickle as I unzip
the smooth leather jacket, and I murmur
a brief prayer of contrition for
what I am about to do.
10