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.