You Speak of Med School Cadavers

 

1
 

You tell me the heads
are draped in gauze at first,
face down, for easier entry of student blades
into the backs of those they'll love
before the whole thing's over. What begins
as terror cloaked in banter, ends in gratitude,
the intimate gift of the open body.
 

You tell how you'll return the favor at death,
your body a lesson beneath somebody's pry.
Your hand below my shoulder blade
you trace a right angle: the first cut,
you say, a flap of the skin's tenting
into the human soliloquy.

 

2
 

Cadavers are oily to touch,
the flesh resembling Italian beef.
 

Once you left the lab for lunch
and ordered a sandwich;
formaldehyde stench on your hands,
the beef damp and gray -- you couldn't choke it down.
Each day at the lab you wore the same clothes,
stink so persistent you torched them at year's end.
 

You joke, you'll tattoo your chest NO CODE,
and on your back a dotted line, CUT HERE.

 

3

 

Here, for the skin of your back, a tattoo, an indigo bio-script wreathed in trumpet vine:

I treated the poor and the old,
sat at the silent deathbeds
of penniless women,
listened to ancient men
exhume childhood grief.

 

Taught my daughter
to drive in bad weather.
Grew orchids, shot targets, made lists, stacked books,
I hated to be interrupted.
I was a good kisser.
 

I once looked into a patient's throat.
Surprised at what grew there I said, Oh shit.
Dear Reader, I'm your text now,
your legend, cover to cover.
 

4
 

When the head is at last unwrapped from its gauze
and the face appears, the skull waits for the saw.
But worse than the face, you say, the hand,
that cut a shard from the ball of a foot,
or poured cheap vodka down;
its fingers curled around a thigh
or fisted in rage. The corporeal totem
of the hand, angelic, monstrous.
If not proof the body cages the Soul,
then proof the Body's obstinate grist will do.
 

5
 

So they will search you,
muscle, nerve, artery, ligament, bone,
not knowing how you
slept beneath these three thin blankets,
your hand at the base of my head,
my hand at your spine's low arcing,
 

how we drowsed, dream-moving
to the ceiling fan's whir,
Death at the window on its dogged watch,
 

beneath my hand
your blood and breath counting you down.
 

 

 

Jan Presley

Community

1st place poetry