The Poem I Need to Write

I haven’t been writing much lately, it’s true. Partly it’s because I’m overworked and tired. It’s hard to be inspired to sit down and write when life is stressful. But there’s something bigger keeping me from it. I know the poem that comes next. I know it’s in there, waiting to come out. And I can hardly even think about it yet, and certainly am not ready to write it. But I know it’s next. I know I need to write it, to be able to process it.

I lost my granddad on December 21st. The last time I saw him was in July. It’s all still too raw, and at the same time still too unreal, for me to make any sense of it. The poem I need to write isn’t to him, though. It’s the the med student somewhere who never knew my granddad, but will (or by now, has)… ok, not sure I can even get this out yet. My granddad donated his body to a medical school. Somehow, I need to tell that med student that the body he has been given to work on is sacred. I need to ask him to treat it with reverence, to tell him stories about the person who once was embodied but now is gone. It’s a blessing, of sorts, maybe – this heart once loved us with its every beat. These hands, these eyes, all of these parts, please. Please remember that they were given as a gift to you, but they belonged to someone you will never know. You’ll never know that here before you lies the kindest man his granddaughter ever knew. You’ll never know that this man loved his wife for sixty years. You’ll never know the mark he made on the world, except for this final one – the gift of his very body, to you, that you might learn how to save another man’s daughter one day, as once another surgeon saved his.

So there it is. I guess a lot of it came out up there. I’ll work it into a poem one day. Soon maybe. Or maybe this is enough for now. Maybe I’ll be able to write about something else soon.