Scrapings (Poetry)

A macabre treasure hunt,
intimate with flesh and hair,
uncovering the cold facts
layer by layer,
discovering a cache of small secrets,
silent but telling
the when and where of death.

Measuring the moment,
teasing information from fibres,
answers from under fingernails —
last scrapings spread,
magnified, identified,
their dust read
like a footnote.

Sifting, sorting, matching
piece by microscopic piece,
patching a picture,
determining the how and why,
theory joining clue to clue —
a dot to dot
that could reveal the who.