Daneen Bergland Corpus Delicti * The majority of her time is spent inside the mind. It is exactly living room-sized (and is therefore, quite commodious). Once in awhile she notices the body, how it touches itself with a hand to feel things— lumps, hair, other textures. It has many needs and is easy to please. She finds it to be much like a dog in this way, and she has never imagined herself wanting a dog. (Though known to ache and make noises when she wants to read quietly, she must also admit that sometimes she misses the way it once was). Sometimes she taps on the window to get its attention. She mouths through the glass, Now you should feel tired. At other times, shiver,         quicken. But the body, unaccustomed to such attention, thinks she may be addressing someone else, so turns away awkwardly. * I was afraid to become one of those women about whom we say, she let herself go. (My body betrayed me) That is to say she neglected it somehow, or gave it more than it deserved, (I let her have it) or lost it like a cigarette out an open car window. (I apologized and gave her something nice and sweet) That is to say she stopped thinking about it. * One day I saw my toes. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen them, but they looked familiar to me and reminded me of a painting in a book. She did not remember how at one time she had mapped every pore on her nose, or spent two whole days nibbling the invisible filament of a hangnail. I imagined my body inside this painting and found myself aroused by the desire for my own body. I thought, I am supposed to love it. All night she searched for the book. Daneen Bergland has been published or is forthcoming in several journals, including Willow Springs, Redactions, and the on-line journal Born Magazine. .