Henry   You were old but new, dead yet alive. On the shiny metal cart, in the clean, white bag, You rested, gift of your self to strangers. Strangers—we who would know more of your mortal coil than any other, Yet would not know your name.   Months pass…system by system, part by part, We learned to find your celiac trunk, teres major, sciatic nerve; I always felt a little sad That you would leave us without things I’m sure you felt important.   Today, while looking at the shell that bears little resemblance To that fellow I met in August, I decided that no matter how hard it becomes to take away Bits and pieces of what you once were, I’ve learned much from you, Henry, my teacher—   And I think somewhere you are happy.   by Crystal Perry, MSIII