Something in the way you people smell, like you've got no soul at all.

I wrote a revision about one of my poems on this blog from two years ago for my creative writing class, and it brought my professor to tears.

The Process (3/9/09)

“Baby fat doesn’t smell like adult fat.”
You would expect it to be easier to autopsy an adult
than a child. We flip the tiny cadaver’s scalp up,
and then I can pretend I am dissecting a cat, AP-bio style.

You don’t need the bone saw on children.
Using the scalpel, we cut the cartilaginous ribs one-by-one,
and easily remove the breastplate.
The organs are miniature, and even cute.

I’ve never seen a heart so small and so precious.
I only think it’s sad that it will never see CAD.
I wonder what this child could have done or seen
with its life, now wasted by asphyxiation.