Match (On Hearing She Donated Her Body to Science)

With a light stroke
She was willed into
pieces, positions.
Her last sacrificial right
to give her last breath
to patience,
Her first death,
match,
reaps what
her chromosomes
sow.
I now seek her in
strangers,
snapshots of the woman
I need to be.
My love to spare,
she artfully parts from
her flesh, with a message:

Number One, you may have my eyes
only if you see the world as I did
with equal compassion.
Number Six you may wear my skin
only if you live like
their words can't penetrate it.
Number Eight, you may have my
blood and bone
only if you
bathe in the river
of my genesis
and gracefully carry your body
as I did
at my exodus.

Your body can't be
a match for such
a large heart,
But number Three
Love your father and mother,
Bask in the sun,
and let her ghost
always lead you,
never leave you,
as she has not
left me.