Monday, April 23, 2012

68. 2:05 P.M.

This is my second time in the
human anatomy lab.

I am all alone this time;

I need some time to process
what we learned today –

Or maybe just time to come to terms
with death.
In high school
we did things with
sheep eyes, pig foetuses.
But a human: a donated
human body
could be me,
could be my own

Ah, death:
we become spare
graciously to
labs, to Body Worlds,
to patients needing
organ transplants:

I held a brain in my hands today,
and I cried.
I cried
for the temporality of life,
for my own mortality.

All alone this time in the
human anatomy lab,
it is quiet, and
Preservatives fill my nose;
I am intoxicated with

Always alone,
after the crowds and lines have gone,
on a cold metal
foldable tray,
stuffed away in some
morgue, some cemetery, some lab;
and we become spare
and we cry,
for the temporality of life,
for our own mortality.

No comments:

Post a Comment

One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson