David Pratt
The Canopic Jars
“Look how exquisitely each lid
is fashioned in the likeness of a son of Horus
Imnesty, with the human head
will hold my liver,
ape-headed Hapi will keep my lungs.”
“What of the brain?” I asked.
“The brain,” she said, “is unimportant,
and is discarded before embalming. See,
the stomach goes in this one,
under the jackal-headed Diamintef.”
“And the heart?” I stole a glance at her.
“Yes, the heart, the center of intelligence,
we leave in the body when it’s mummified.
This last jar, for my intestines,
is Quebehsennef with the falcon’s head.”
Her rapt face. Bereft.
Bereft.
Page(s) 47
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