Author Notes
Trocar needles are used in the embalming process to provide drainage of bodily fluids and organs after the vascular replacement of blood with embalming chemicals. Rather than a round tube being inserted, the three sided knife of the classic trocar would split the outer skin into three "wings" which was then easily sutured closed in a less obtrusive way.
This poem is based on a nightmare I had, not too long ago. In it, I awoke to find I was being embalmed. I was aware of what was happening the entire time, yet I could not move or speak. For some strange reason that only a psychiatrist could answer, my father was the one doing the embalming. My dad is retired, but he's never been a mortician -- at least not as far as I know. The only actual pain I felt was not being caused by the jabbing needles piercing into my pale flesh, or any part of the actual process itself. Instead, it was the fact that, for reasons unbeknownst to me, my own father was being made to administer the procedure. He looked so horribly sad, and I dare say that even though I was quite dead, his eyes appeared to be even deader than my own. I was helpless and could do nothing to ease his suffering.
This poem is written in archaic Old World English due to the setting in which the dream took place. I estimated it to be sometime around the turn of the 17th century.
As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work.
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