I stare at your belly
Once soft, unbroken
We take your heart
Lungs, liver, guts, then
You stare at us from a bag
Just a name
Not your mother's
Just the scientist
Whose lab killed you
On your tombstone
With the date
I tell myself,
This will help save lives
But I am not so sure
I am sorry, friend
I am sorry you sleep
The endless, unnatural sleep
I am sorry you cannot wake
I thank you for your life
And your pieces which we take
In the day, I dissect myself
I do not wish to turn
Into my boss
Her impatience
Her perfectionism
Her screaming
All my nausea
And bloating
And stress
I cannot take this abuse
I suppose it is better you are dead
There is no scrutiny
You are imperfect like me
Like my PI.
I wish somehow we can run
From this lab
From this hell
We can make science better
But you cannot hear me
Your bulbous eyes stare
Atop the wax-lined tray
Placing me on trial
"Why did you kill me?"
I am sorry, friend.
We ended you.
But I promise you---
I will never be her
The one on your bag.
She is brilliant
But ruthless
I refuse to be her.
I choose patience.
And mentorship.
And kindness.
I choose to listen to you, little one.
As I throw your organs
Into liquid nitrogen
I swear your eyes soften
Beneath my boss's steely gaze
As if to say:
I forgive you
Because you are mouse
Like me
And you deserve more
Than to be necropsied
YOU ARE READING
Cacti & Paper Airplanes
PoetryDeep collection of prickly sweet poems and songs. Topics range from friendship and exploring the life of inanimate objects to murder, greed, and death. Darker tone emerges later in the collection. Cheers!
