Correspondence

Anatomy Teacher

N Engl J Med 2000; 342:1056April 6, 2000

Article

When I touched your hands,

I touched hands that had felt

the chill of 94 winters,

fingers that had stretched in the sunlight

of as many springs.

When I touched your feet,

I touched feet that had walked

the paths of nine decades,

toes curling and uncurling through

the uncertainty of five wars.

When I touched your arms,

I touched the arms that had

braced you from and embraced the world,

a world I know only through

historians and faded photographs.

When I stared into the shell of your eyes,

I saw the screen upon which

a million irreplaceable scenes had been played,

visions of a world rapidly changing,

at once both like and unlike my own.

When I held your heart in my hands,

in a moment filled with awe and grace,

I held a heart whose mysteries I will never know,

a heart that gave me the

gift of itself.

When you invited me to know you,

to be a guest in the house that

your spirit left,

to touch your body more intimately

than any lover could, you forever altered my life.

My feet, with the knowledge of yours,

will walk into the future

carrying you with me.

My hands, as they reach out to

comfort and heal,

will do so never forgetting the

delicacy of yours.

My eyes, as they sweep across the

landscapes of my future,

will find in it reflections of

the world I saw as yours.

My heart, in the rhythm of its beating,

will carry with it

the stillness and wonder of your heart,

lying silent in my hands.

Amy Marie Millikan
36 Fort Hill Terr., Rochester, NY 14620