On Leaving the Body to Science
The my becomes
a the, becomes
the state’s
the coroner’s,
a law’s, something
assignable,
by me, alone,
though it will not
be the I
I am on
leaving it, no
longer to be
designated human or
corpse: cadaver
it will be,
nameless patient
stored in
the deep hold
of the hospital
as in the storage
of a ghost ship
run aground —
the secret in it
that will,
perhaps, stir again
the wind that
failed. It
will be preserved,
kept like larva,
like a bullet
sealed gleaming
in its chamber.
They will gather
around it,
probe and sample,
argue — then
return it
to its between-
world, remove
their aprons
and gloves
and stroll, some evenings,
a city block
for a beer,
a glass of chilled
white wine. Even there, they
will continue
to speak of it,
what they
glean from beneath
the narrative
of scars, surgical
cavities, the
wondrous
mess it became
before I left it
to them
with what’s
left of me, this
name, a signature,
a neatened
suture, perfect, this
last, selfish stitch.
Source: Poetry (October 2015)