-
that the woman on the table wasn't my mother.
-
But somehow, in the cosmic joke that is my life,
-
I felt like she could be.
-
And it was poetic justice that I would be meeting her
-
for the first time on a slab in my gross anatomy class.
-
It was then that I knew what I was missing.
-
A mother's touch.
-
Skin-to-skin contact.
-
It's what I was craving.
-
It's what I was missing my whole life.
-
Oh, but she smelled of formaldehyde.
-
And her skin, even after I removed it,