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Poetry and Medicine
May 9, 2012

Morning of the Bone

JAMA. 2012;307(18):1895. doi:10.1001/jama.2012.459

Blood is brother to the bone.
The marrow molds its maker,
flux of matrix slakes the undertaker
before the body's laid to tombstone—
little suicides of cells postpone
the larger death; bright vessels make
us flush; deep in their factories daybreak
to dusk, each tomorrow is the morning of the bone.
Out of this soup of cells we rise!
Red-dyed, our slow senescence born
again and again, we grow young and old,
we revise and cannibalize,
make and unmake, mourn
and celebrate what keeps us whole.

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