unfurling the plastered papyrus of a dead little girl
guffawing; what novelty!
gripping her dislodged jaw
gnashing her teeth together –
look at her laugh
the scarab beetle ‘round her neck
glistens then gone; plucked with manicured fingers
threaded through a silver chain and
placed atop the corseted chest of shrieking opera-goer
their mouths garble a god’s name
they can’t pronounce
tracing the hieroglyphic promise of forever
rattling canopic jars – i wonder what’s inside
emptying her heart onto the dining table
a shrivelled prune they muse at; before asking
what antiquity looks like
burned in a barrel
the afterlife looks a lot like a dinner party
and osiris looks like a man with a knife
cutting through the garments
keeping the skin from wilting
i wonder if this is what they wrote hymns about
if this is their great judgement
as we weigh their hearts on scales
and slash their rites with ritual
concrete and dumpster fires
and i wonder if we are the
ruinous and bickering gods
destined to unravel history