top of page

Dear Mr. Cadaver



You are not chicken.

              “Don’t worry, it’s just like cutting chicken,” 

              shrugged a colleague

I strode into the lab room

             back straight 

             eyes alert

             over-confident in 

             my spiffy new scrubs 

             and white coat

Then I saw you– 

I saw

             a snowy scar slithering across your knee

                          bearing the weight of life's steps

I saw 

             a protruding notch near your left clavicle

                          the insignia of a heart beat with too much love

Cupping your wrist

Tasting what lost strength 

Sparked your decision to donate your body to science 

             despite the consequences? 

             Was this the 

                          frail but determined

                          hand that sealed the deal?

             Perhaps angry words 

                          contested the decision to donate

                          yet you bravely held your position

What fire 

             once danced within? 


The scalpel skated through the skin 

eerily easily

I could not help but whisper, 


Yet, you remained steady and poised. 


I hung up my lab coat and dried my hands

glancing back to


What I saw before me was no slab of poultry, 

but a man 

embalmed in 


bottom of page