Wilkinson, Anne. “Dissection.” Canadian Poetry Magazine 11.2 (1947): 39-40.


We crawl through craniums; stare
Beneath the bone at spasms; redden
At the grey twitched ultimatums;
We touch the guilty puddle where the nerve roots
Launch their tippy boats to shoot the heart;
Observe which curled inch
Controls the meadow of the hand, which pipe
Dictates the course of sewers in our city.
We clock the ragged pulse
That hammers out our imagery, unravel
Every sleeping snake
And travel to the threshold of its sting.
And while we squint to focus microscopes,
Dissect each bleeding head,
Sun bursts in splendor from a bloody skull,
And angel shedding glory, come to free
The puppet dangled from a mildewed coil.