This bloody tissue prone in a small, blue
surgeon’s tub appears a flattened eggplant
or enlarged purple heart the span of two
hands. Perhaps a wine-soaked palm leaf merchants
offer desert travelers in Egypt.
I’m half in shock—having witnessed my wife
bear our Bess, just swept to the well-equipped
incubator—and half enthralled at life
so fragile once secured by this organ,
ephemeral and now separated
from intimate touch of loving humans
who had shared its metabolism, fated
to be bound the rest of their lives. Doctor,
please save this for stem cells. Is that proper?
Roger Armbrust
September 4, 2007
