To the Beloved, In the Cadaver Lab

See my cadaver-body strung prone.
Unzip my canvas for dissection. Lean
across my red-string muscles. Your power
a scalpel. You, so near my anatomy.
Dig and touch my twelve true ribs, the nineteen
bones in my hand. Give them names.
Make me Latinate. Make me like all the others,
common mankind. I am past wounded.
Take your time with me. You know I used to sing.

Colin Criss teaches in the English Department at Washington State University. He is originally from Old Forge, NY, and has an MFA in Poetry from Washington University in St. Louis. His poems have appeared, or will soon, in New Limestone Review, Grist, Midwest Review, and elsewhere.

Rubor Participation:
2020 Poem, "To the Beloved, in the Cadaver Lab"