¡Muchísimas Gracias Altagracias! …an ode to my human anatomy savior By Samuel Ayala I’ve never met you, I don’t even know your name, however, it is only appropriate to introduce ourselves. What’s that you say? The school doesn’t allow you to disclose your identity. That’s okay, I will give you a special name. You shall be called “Altagracias,” meaning “many thanks.” You are my personal human anatomy savior. Not only will you help me ace this course, you will help me survive my career as a healer. You will give me insight into the complexities of the body. By granting me passage into your being, you allow me to discover who you once were. And with time, maybe I will begin to realize who I will become. Superficially, our relationship may appear unbalanced, without any communication, and with me doing the work so we can become acquainted. Nonetheless, our inner beings, our souls, are getting along just fine. They are already on their way to becoming lifelong companions. Oh, however can I repay you for what you have done? ¡Muchísimas Gracias Altagracias! Thank you very much Altagracias! Stories
By Amy Funkenstein
What you gave to me was not so cold and calculating
as you’d have me believe
It was not just your superior mesenteric artery that
caught my attention
Not just your 9th cranial nerve
What you gave to me was not just a figure to practice
on,
a series of nerves and vessels that at one time
had filled you with life.
Not just your layers upon layers of fascia
I’d like to take a moment, if I could, if you’d let me.
To show you what you gave to me, what you offered
up on that first, hot summer day in August:
You took my trembling, skinny, homely frame and
dared me,
dared me to open my eyes, to look inside you, to
take you as you came, and not to judge or guess.
To talk with you a moment.
You told me every story of a thousand childhoods,
Of summers spent
And badges worn
You enlivened every tale of reckless youth
And of the safety and kindness of strangers
Of kissing another on the pavement while the
streetlight flickered above you
You unfolded countless lives
Of running barefoot into the ocean with seaweed
stuck between your toes.
Of wiping the chocolate mess off the supple, soft lips
of a child
I knew your stories like fog just damp enough to coat
your brow with wet
Like water dripping from a broken faucet, dropping in
the sink with a light, predictable beat
I want to thank you, to thank you more than the way
my mother taught me was polite.
I want to thank you for your muscles, your tendons
and your bones
I want to thank you for your physical history, your
scars and your wounds
I want to thank you for sharing them with me, for
trusting me, before you even knew me
I want to thank you for your stories
I want to thank you
I want to thank you
~I would like to give credit to my favorite poet Rafael Campo
for the inspiration for this poem.
Grace’s Face
By Julie Birns
I look at your face and it’s hard to continue.
Though I have already studied many parts of you,
Seeing your face makes it all too real.
What a wonderful gift you have given me
Wanting me to learn from you, inside and out.
Only a few weeks ago I held your beautiful heart in
my hands
Thinking little of the person behind the beats.
Now I can only focus on your face
And imagine you full of life.
I know you want me to study the depths of your
cheeks
But all I can do is imagine your smiles.
You want me to study the components of your eyes
But all I see is the love that shone through.
You want me to study and learn from you
But now I can only imagine the life you enjoyed.
Grace, as we like to call you,
I know you want me to learn from you.
But when I see your face,
I can only imagine you as a friend, a beautiful face in
my life.
Untitled By Ernest Pedapati Student, do you not recognize My body Broken. The composition The layers and viscera within? I do not. I am terrified to touch To cut and name each part of the whole To shatter One into thousands for me And to sit at this table hungry for more. Doctor, do you not remember My body Broken. The composition The layers and viscera within? I do. And I promise to touch. To make you whole from each cut. To make a thousand words into one for you And to sit at this bedside hungry for more.