Alaska

You have nothing to say but to smile that strange Jack-o-Lantern smile, flash those dwarfed Alaskan teeth, warp that gray skin.
I smell like your sweat, the prehistoric dirt deep in the earth, the graves you robbed with an ax and a blade and a brush, at home among basements filled with the dead, a mortician of the orphans removed from the living by millennia, with no families and no histories and no names.

Living woman sprinkled with grave-dust