Outer ribs slicked with mud and leaves
softened when the river rose
falling open like a mouth in sleep  

Inside, on a wide shelf, white stone
with an amber swirl, blue bottles
topaz ring beside a bullet
a pocket and collar tugged from a red shirt
five gold buttons, a note of sums  

A woman cuts stars
from a yellow jacket

The house, her history, breathes
hugs her like a tight sleeve                                      

~ Found poem composed/modified from words in Lia Purpura’s essay “Autopsy Report”