the tissue between my forceps is opaque and persistent. i pull in opposite directions, creating particles, teasing out choice pieces. my eyes strain, and i move slowly away from the microscope—the eye pieces and laboratory appearing before me. i look down at the dish and see nothing—no one can see the work i’ve done, unless they were to view the specimen through the powerful lens to which i acclimate slowly. even then, should someone else decide to look, there’s only room for one near the microscope. and, whether that person looks or not, there’s no way i can nearly articulate what i’ve seen. the focus for me and position of the ocular parts is different than it is for the rest. my eyes are set strangely, and i hate how i can’t tell them about this private world i’ve seen.
the ambiguity makes the matter workable. the cells valid. applicable to life as i understand it. nothing is cut and clear, and tissues vary depending upon the light. finding the right plane is always a task, and sometimes i land on a plane where i see nothing at all.
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