Passed a cadaver in the hall,
ribs cracked and spread like wings.
The stench was strong as I walked into the room—
preserved organs lie about on the aluminum table,
waiting to be poked and prodded by the incoming round
of nervous, curious high school seniors on a field trip.
Kidneys, a dark and bulging liver, a heart enlarged by yellow fat,
a stomach attached to small intestine lapping around the room.
I wondered if these all came from the same body,
or if it was some communal, visceral collage.

The doctor handed me a brain,
a handful of one’s entirety,
a small blob, about three pounds, death-grey,
with the throat-clenching reek of formaldehyde.
What residual thoughts or memories
lie tucked away sleeping in the damp folds?
Could a simple jolt spark some response
from the depths? A brief dream
interrupting eternal stillness.
Not function, just feeling.
Not pleasant, just anything.

– Peyton Aston