Another Scalpel

Beautiful dutiful dissections I
did not do, should have done, could not have done,
for my hands recoiled in shame at their lack
of skill, not knowing to cut tenderly

my mind and heart recoiled in blind fright
from the geography of the empire
of the organs hidden under the skin,
not just his but I knew was mine as well

he’d done manual labor, had the muscle,
was a forebear, something like my father,
I dreamed his escape, he wouldn’t go back
without white coat hostages, man, woman

to this very winter dawn day med school   
goes on, as I use another scalpel 


 
July, 1977 to December, 2025