On An Organ Donation Run
This poem earned Joey Lew first place in this year's international William Carlos Williams Poetry Competition.
I am asked to close up
(the body)
It is my very first operation
I never used to write from gut churning
I used to look life in its beady eyes
and juice all the gorgeous out of it
like strangling a monstrous fruit
with bare meaty hands made from
wrist-wringing and knuckle-cracking
in the back of a windowless classroom
asbestos lining the tight walls
I learned Spanish and then forgot it, learned
Spanish and then forgot
English and every word and now
I am looking at lungs inside a person
being removed from a person
and every word is forgotten
her family is praying for her soul outside
make it pretty for the family
and every stitch is mislaid
and corrected slip
the tail under the slick thread
and how do you make a pretty thing
with meaty hands inexperienced
in the body
and its openings
and its closings
and this place is so dark
so clean and my mind is so keen and so eager
if only I can do this right—
I never used to write about bodies and now
I close my eyes and open
an abdomen I could tell you every secret
the liver has but they would all be
lies I never learned how to close
myself up after injury
always seeping a little luxurious grief
and this person she figured
perhaps a professional might give her the
dignity of a job well done
but her knotted skin
is sallow and my knitting is a stitch
my grandmother never taught me
she was a psychiatrist
and when she died
she didn’t recognize her doctor
I don’t recognize
myself in scrubs so blue
and optimistic
so small and drowned in fabric
lady whose lungs we took away
I hope you’ll forgive me you
taught my clumsy hands
a new prayer