Medical Humanities
Succession
Geoffrey Rubin
Published June 7, 2020
Three pairs of hands
Similar in size
Singular in structure
Identical in purpose
Across three ages
From my grandfather
to my father
to me
Different doctors
Share a name and anatomy
But with idiosyncrasy
Blue veins creep
Down cool edges
Soft and gentle
Skeletal interlocks
The thenar bulge
Melts with color change
From fresh flesh-pink
To worn amber-brown
Despite ringing 102 springs
Sam’s nails glisten
Not a ramshackle set
They wind back the gears of memory—
A small Jersey village
Country doc’s palm
Enwraps the rough
Black medical leather
Knuckles rap
Sinewy tendons enter
For the good of a dying teacher
He hears a hurricane of bacteria
And an electric current of silence
As vivid as the arms of death
On his wet gold timepiece
Which presses in present day
Into my father’s fingers
And is then encircled
Around my wrist
Our hands
Right then left
Dive downward
Absorbed by sterile gloves
Without tremor or tremble
With delicate movements
We suture the skin together.
Editor's Commentary