Orcinus, a place
and a liver taken out.

Grandmother is the black knife that scalps
what crowns from underneath,
the things that tourmaline
can seem—

And the wet exhale
that shivers in the space she gored
The ringlets of the cartilage
the foldings of the sea.

Grandmother brings end by eaten shore,
the offals that unspool
and dribble—

And her warning that’s white
and a husk like a stone
The viscera that plumes
in a happy flush.

Inside the blue membrane,
saltwater taffy, God’s hymen
pulled apart

Grandmother eats everything
and Orcus, too.

G. Cameron Perry is an artist living in New York. She went to NYU a couple of times. Her interests include cetaceans and JRPGs. She tweets @gcameronperry