Every Body
By Kori Waring

“Here, take this.”

“What is it?”

“A strange thing, lumpy and soft. It will need protection.”

“Are there others like it?”

“There are millions, and there are none.”

 “What does it do?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you. It may bring you agony or ecstasy. Or both. Or neither.”

“Will it always look like this?”

“It will change with time.”

“Into what?”

“Perhaps something that makes you proud. Perhaps something that shames you. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.”

“How will it change?”

“That depends on what you fill it with.”

“I have to fill it?”

“Oh yes. Over and over, in all sorts of ways.”

“Will it need to be emptied, too?”

“Yes, in private. And cleaned, as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“One more thing: when it comes to betrayal, the question is not ‘if,’ but ‘when.’”

“It will betray me?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I don’t want it. Take it back.”

“It is a gift.”