{"id":115,"date":"2026-04-07T21:38:08","date_gmt":"2026-04-07T21:38:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/?page_id=115"},"modified":"2026-04-09T17:48:35","modified_gmt":"2026-04-09T17:48:35","slug":"ars","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/poetry\/ars\/","title":{"rendered":"ARS"},"content":{"rendered":"

Beatrice Bleakley<\/span><\/p>\n

it\u2019s an old Seventies control room,<\/span><\/p>\n

like they had in Chernobyl.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

there\u2019s a circular gold table<\/span><\/p>\n

much like the record<\/span><\/p>\n

sent into space<\/span><\/p>\n

and a man<\/span><\/p>\n

with dark combed hair<\/span><\/p>\n

in scrubs and a surgical mask<\/span><\/p>\n

stands near it.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

strewn across the table<\/span><\/p>\n

are barely opaque tendrils\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

not quite wires,<\/span><\/p>\n

something made out of<\/span><\/p>\n

firm plastic light.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and they are streaming out of a girl,<\/span><\/p>\n

a woman, really,<\/span><\/p>\n

although she appears youthful.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

her eyes are closed,<\/span><\/p>\n

nothing in the expression.<\/span><\/p>\n

long straight brown hair<\/span><\/p>\n

fans under her<\/span><\/p>\n

somewhat slender skull<\/span><\/p>\n

across the table on her left,<\/span><\/p>\n

limp strands<\/span><\/p>\n

cascading towards the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

the woman is torn in half,<\/span><\/p>\n

but there is no blood,<\/span><\/p>\n

only the tubes of light<\/span><\/p>\n

connected to her midriff.<\/span><\/p>\n

neither thin nor fat,<\/span><\/p>\n

she is wearing something<\/span><\/p>\n

like a hospital gown<\/span><\/p>\n

although perhaps it is more to do<\/span><\/p>\n

with a baptismal dress.<\/span><\/p>\n

we see only the half of her<\/span><\/p>\n

containing her arms,<\/span><\/p>\n

one cast loosely<\/span><\/p>\n

across her not quite small<\/span><\/p>\n

(not quite large) breasts<\/span><\/p>\n

and the other<\/span><\/p>\n

hanging off the table.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

you cannot tell<\/span><\/p>\n

if she is conscious or not.<\/span><\/p>\n

you cannot tell<\/span><\/p>\n

if she is unconscious<\/span><\/p>\n

whether it\u2019s by choice<\/span><\/p>\n

or by force.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cis this you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

the man asks,<\/span><\/p>\n

muffled by his mask.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

you step closer<\/span><\/p>\n

and look at the woman.<\/span><\/p>\n

you see you<\/span><\/p>\n

in the freckles on her arm,<\/span><\/p>\n

her scrunched up little chin.<\/span><\/p>\n

her eyelashes clump together,<\/span><\/p>\n

like yours.<\/span><\/p>\n

her breasts are<\/span><\/p>\n

weighted somewhat<\/span><\/p>\n

by gravity,<\/span><\/p>\n

like yours.<\/span><\/p>\n

her fingernails are bitten<\/span><\/p>\n

and when you look at the hand<\/span><\/p>\n

that is half reached out<\/span><\/p>\n

of its own volition,<\/span><\/p>\n

you see yours are too.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201ci don\u2019t know,\u201d you lie.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201ci don\u2019t know who this is.<\/span><\/p>\n

i don\u2019t know if she\u2019s me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cit is you,\u201d the man insists.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

you focus on the lights now.<\/span><\/p>\n

the filaments<\/span><\/p>\n

almost remind you<\/span><\/p>\n

of the glowsticks ever-present<\/span><\/p>\n

in your childhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

one good hard yank,<\/span><\/p>\n

one decisive crack,<\/span><\/p>\n

and they burst all aglow.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

but there is no touch of stress,<\/span><\/p>\n

no point of severance<\/span><\/p>\n

where the color is darker.<\/span><\/p>\n

you reach out hesitantly<\/span><\/p>\n

and brush your fingers<\/span><\/p>\n

through them.<\/span><\/p>\n

they\u2019re stiffer<\/span><\/p>\n

than you would have<\/span><\/p>\n

expected them to be,<\/span><\/p>\n

and when they brush together<\/span><\/p>\n

they clack lightly,<\/span><\/p>\n

like the balls<\/span><\/p>\n

in a Newton\u2019s Cradle.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cit is you,\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

the man repeats.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cit is you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

he\u2019s getting louder<\/span><\/p>\n

and angrier<\/span><\/p>\n

and you don\u2019t know<\/span><\/p>\n

how to explain it,<\/span><\/p>\n

that this creature<\/span><\/p>\n

does not have your hair,<\/span><\/p>\n

or your face.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

she does not<\/span><\/p>\n

possess your weight,<\/span><\/p>\n

she does not<\/span><\/p>\n

have the scar<\/span><\/p>\n

on the bridge of your nose<\/span><\/p>\n

from when your brother<\/span><\/p>\n

threw a projector at you<\/span><\/p>\n

when you were children.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

this is not your body,<\/span><\/p>\n

but the sheer you-ness of her<\/span><\/p>\n

radiates out<\/span><\/p>\n

glowing uranium,<\/span><\/p>\n

making you sicker and sicker<\/span><\/p>\n

just to look at her.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

she is unwell,<\/span><\/p>\n

you think.<\/span><\/p>\n

all her unwell<\/span><\/p>\n

is seeping out of her aura<\/span><\/p>\n

she is irradiating all who come close,<\/span><\/p>\n

anybody in her radius<\/span><\/p>\n

will cough up blood<\/span><\/p>\n

and turn black<\/span><\/p>\n

and slough skin<\/span><\/p>\n

and they will tell her<\/span><\/p>\n

it wasn\u2019t her fault,<\/span><\/p>\n

she just happened to be there,<\/span><\/p>\n

but she will know.<\/span><\/p>\n

she will know<\/span><\/p>\n

that the act of getting near<\/span><\/p>\n

poisons them<\/span><\/p>\n

with the air they breathe in,<\/span><\/p>\n

and in that moment,<\/span><\/p>\n

you are yourself<\/span><\/p>\n

standing on the floor<\/span><\/p>\n

and i am lying<\/span><\/p>\n

strewn across the table.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Beatrice Bleakley it\u2019s an old Seventies control room, like they had in Chernobyl.   there\u2019s a circular gold table much like the record sent into space and a man with dark combed hair in scrubs and a surgical mask stands near it.   strewn across the table are barely opaque tendrils\u2014 not quite wires, something… <\/p>\n

Read more ARS<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":90,"featured_media":0,"parent":21,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-115","page","type-page","status-publish","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/115","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/90"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=115"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/115\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":120,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/115\/revisions\/120"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/21"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=115"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}