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The Forensic Entomologist

The old man, investigating noises, is murdered by an interrupted intruder.

Suspicious smells are reported, beckoning uniforms who surround the corpse,

Noses covered and gazes averted, leaning away from such a frightful find.

The summer heat has turned the apartment into an oppressive sauna of stench

Filled with the din of flies buzzing and alighting on their feast in spastic fits.

The body is a vitality of movement and life, animated by new inhabitants,

A squirming, crawling ecosystem thriving on an accommodating, obliging host

Thrives sustained by death, new communities springing forth from fading fiefdoms.

A forensic entomologist arrives eager to witness the grisly transition unfolding,

Propelled by her passion for arthropods and the time-bound clues they provide.

Moments frozen in time by entomology pins, classified by species and genus,

With wonder and awe she inspected insects held aloft in permanent flight,

Splayed in magnificent splendor, or arrayed in magical levitation as a child.

Such wondrous exoskeletons of vibrant hues that shone like priceless jewels,

A myriad of eyes clustered in geometric perfection like steampunk goggles,

Fighter jet pilot helmets of high tech aviators, she was drawn to the flies,

Easily anthropomorphized yet so alienly other under the gaze of a microscope.

Elegant Lucilia sericata Meigen, genus of flies first to arrive at crime scenes

Shares the name of the forensic entomologist’s two eldest daughters,

Lovingly named Lucy and Meg, both children and the green bottle flies


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