Anatomy Lesson

Brett Cucchiara, MD

This nameless body, this discarded skin,

This box of bones, this broken block of clay,

These few remains of a long lifetime's end;

You once were young—but youth soon fades away,

You once were old—not even age can stay.

Upon this very stone you may have tread

One day long ago, hand in hand with life

As I do now; Upon this very bed,

You may yet lie in dream's disturbing strife,

As I present you with my nervous knife.

But though I thought to find some great sublime,

My expectant blade uncovers only fat,

Oily, yellow curds built up over time,

No lofty view from rare peaks—all is flat,

All is plain—would you hurt to hear of that?

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