Guild of Surgeons, by Jennifer Sanders

The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp, by Rembrandt van Rijn (Netherlands). 1632.

 
Guild of Surgeons
Amsterdam
 
as I–
the once student under your charge--
lift an errant curl of your wig
puffing powder off your lab coat, the white
dust trembles on the black lapel, I
unbutton,
furtively glance--
closed eyes?                yes
continue peeling back
the ironed shirt,
the undershirt,
find the still-warm sternum, pause
 
I must enact, as you trained,
a proper firmness on the razor as it licks
apart your warm flesh, the way it gaps
into little mouths as it glides
gently
God’s plague drips on the floor.
I catch the miracle in a paper towel,
begin the crossing mark to realize
the ribcage bastion
I will find her inside you
 
with the steel I summon this reward,
hover the hammer head below your clavicle                                                                
upon the door I
knock
quickly,
precisely,
breaking only the necessary, the
bits like teeth I tumble into the arms
of sterile stainless platter
a feast for the cemetery worms.                                  
 
and we meet
shimmering in the anointing of your veil,
the torn aorta frothing the inkwell for the contract,
creaming the seal, warm like wax, dripping
 
my love, hidden in the cleft of marrow
a wedding of rescue, I
snip, cleave you from your father
 
how beautiful you are,
outside the human frame
Yes.
I understand his passion, now
I understand.

Jennifer Sanders

Jennifer Sanders is a musician, artist, and unknown poet living in Northfield, Minnesota with her husband and 16 month-old son. By day, she labours as a Spanish elementary teacher, and by night, an unknown poet. Her chapbook collection received distinction from St. Olaf College in 2013.