In a photo, the body of a horse with a malignant tumor is cut for wolf feed. Hung from the neck, the body hangs on a scaffold of three wooden poles peaked into a tripod. The horse's rigid head faces west. A bloated tongue limps out of his mouth. Behind the hanging horse is a parched tree and behind this tree is a ditched school bus. Below, a man wearing glasses; a brown tank top; and a pair of light jeans, hole at the knee, bends to strip the meat from the hindquarters. Beside him, a wooden box where the cuts of meat will be preserved. The mane cascades the same shade of dusty blond as the man's ponytail. If the photo were cropped, it'd be a still of a rearing stallion. The horse's eyes are shut for the pleasure of being carved for another animal.

I split my own body to carry the horse inside me. I lasso my appendages and stretch them onto stakes. I pull the blade from my neck down. I see my cavity stuttering. For each inhalation I blame myself.