K. Stephens

“Jamie came back to the apartment one night to find her spreading a viscous fluid onto a canvas. It was threaded wtih blood. "Good God," he said. "What the hell is that?"
Pia didn't bother to look up but continued to knead the clear slime across the canvas. "It's my new piece."
"But what is it?" He kept pointing. He'd never seen something so disgusting in his life. And her hands were completely in it.
"It's Jodie's placenta. She gave it to me. I'm going to tack it up and let it dry on this canvas. Then I'm gonna glue-gun pictures of dead fetuses onto Lucite and make them the centerpeice."
"Uh huh."
She raised her sticky hands to him. "It's about women, you know? The way that the world opresses them, all right? And it's about babies, and . . . I don't know . . . I just got the placenta today."
"Wow, that's wow . . . that's . . ." No words for this. He scratched his chin as she spread her hands in a concentric motion across the canvas. "So, do you really think anyone's gonna want to put that up on their wall when it's done?" he asked.
She scowled, displeased.”
― K. Stephens