Ruth Gooley’s most recent poem to appear here was “Reflections on the Virus” (April 2020).

DaVinci in the Lab
By Ruth Gooley

A slit and it’s done,
the liver exposed, the spleen,
the heart. I inhale the smell
of blood and rot,

feel the chill seeping in from
below, my back stretching
as I bend over the table,
separate the sinews,

slice, and pull out
a brownish lump,
globed with slippery
yellow fat. I hold it

in my hands.
Air pushes
in and out of my lungs,
I sweat, listen

for footsteps, an alarm,
feel the weight of my own
heartbeat as I push into
the meat, uncover chambers,

thick walls,
strings and veins,
gasp at the sight,
memorize what I see,

lay the heart
back in place,
pull out the stomach,
make another cut.