Exhibit A

the name I was given

filed incorrectly,

lost somewhere between the papers and drawers,

between pending and closed,

with no one looking for me since,

I am Jane Doe.

Exhibit A — the body.

flesh cold as stone,

guts torn to tattered ribbons along the floor,

organs removed and catalogued,

weighed and frozen,

forgotten among the sea

of other Jane Does.

Exhibit A — the case file.

a folder. a number.

something lost long ago

that quickly gathers dust instead of answers.

reclassified as insufficient, as in,

it’s been years since, no other evidence.

the case is cold.

nothing else is.

Exhibit A — the trial that will have no verdict.

too much time passed,

not enough witnesses

willing to testify.

I am Exhibit A —

the body, the case file, the trial,

everything broken and unfinished,

marked, then unmarked,

outliving the evidence diminished over time

still waiting

for the court date to come

for someone to come looking,

for this to count as proof of something.

Exhibit A — is nothing. is me.