"Hard Beauty of Nature" by Edward Lee
Maggie Wang | Sitting in the doctor’s office, I contemplate the weightlessness of God
I cannot shield my body from the candor of the scale,
the blood pressure monitor, the pulse oximeter. The quiet bell
of the stethoscope, which is so unlike the school bell
announcing my arrival or the church bell announcing
my departure. I cannot hide from the precision of the needle
quenching its thirst on me. I reveal my heresy as platelets
in the centrifuge—small flying machines of which no
High Renaissance tinkerer or Joanine priest could have dreamed.
A protein draws open and closed its wings. I am impatient
for confirmation of my purity. I cannot make myself invisible
to the beam of the x-ray machine, which knows where
unbelief resides in me. Neither Pieterszoon nor the convict
on the dissecting table bears his own name today. So, too,
the doctor and I drag out the one long breath of life.
The speculum’s memory is briefer than the tulip flower.
The lessons it learns are transitory. The tile floor is rigorous
in its neutrality. No ephemera for the archive of immunity. No soul
for my seigneur’s keep. No calm on the high sea of this body.
the blood pressure monitor, the pulse oximeter. The quiet bell
of the stethoscope, which is so unlike the school bell
announcing my arrival or the church bell announcing
my departure. I cannot hide from the precision of the needle
quenching its thirst on me. I reveal my heresy as platelets
in the centrifuge—small flying machines of which no
High Renaissance tinkerer or Joanine priest could have dreamed.
A protein draws open and closed its wings. I am impatient
for confirmation of my purity. I cannot make myself invisible
to the beam of the x-ray machine, which knows where
unbelief resides in me. Neither Pieterszoon nor the convict
on the dissecting table bears his own name today. So, too,
the doctor and I drag out the one long breath of life.
The speculum’s memory is briefer than the tulip flower.
The lessons it learns are transitory. The tile floor is rigorous
in its neutrality. No ephemera for the archive of immunity. No soul
for my seigneur’s keep. No calm on the high sea of this body.
Maggie Wang's recent work appears in Wet Grain, Poetry Wales, and Linseed. A J.D. candidate at Yale Law School, she is the author of The Sun on the Tip of a Snail's Shell (Hazel Press, 2022).
Edward Lee is an artist and photographer from Ireland. His paintings and photography have been exhibited and published widely, with many pieces in private collections. His website can be found at https://lastimagesphotography.com
Instagram: @edwardleeart
Instagram: @edwardleeart
