my grandfather wanted to donate his body to science

he was short with wirey white hair.
a long beard that reached the middle of his chest.
i can't picture his face because photographs
put too much distance between him & the lens. 
he is always a few feet away. an ornament 
of the horizon-line. i don't think about him often
which seems cruel. the living's only job 
is to remember bodies. 
maybe i'm exagerrating, 
but everything seems to be about blood. 
blood sample. 
blood family. 
blood pact. 
i want to ask 
what he imagined science doing with his skin.
did he see himself 
crowded by a group of med students?
their bone cutters whirling in their hands.
metal table underneath him. 
there are too many pictures of me.
so many angles of my face. this doesn't mean
no one will forget me.
then again, i don't know if i want to 
be immortalized. it sounds exhausting.
you always look better 
with the camera tilted slightly down.
i was alive before the phone camera faced me--
when you had to use a mirror or twist your arm. 
what would science find
inside my grandfather? they're mining him
for jewels. they're looking for gold in the muscle.
they're prying out his teeth to make 
a very small piano. 
my iphone keeps reminding me i haven't 
backed up any of my data for years
& i keep telling it i don't care.
i say hey siri i'm donating my body
to science & she says that's nice. 
i want to be made into test tubes.
i want to be filled with science:
bright & blue & buzzing. will they find 
sound? an email notification ringing 
in my chest. an acoylte's bell 
fluttering in my throat.
everything is made of metal after you die.
i have to imagine him watching over me,
perched on the horizon. not like a god,
but like a kitchen timer. he makes note
of everything i love so that he can love it.
his face is a blur. maybe science used his face 
for some new machine. 
i don't wave to him. i nod & he nods.
we keep things professional. 
he is dead afterall.
sometimes i think to myself 
i hope someone can open my phone when i die.
i hope sometime is nosy & reads my texts.
i hope they pry open my ribs
& reach the core. i have always believed
there are diamonds there--clean & already cut.
this is cruel because i could really used those diamonds 
to pay rent this month. the truth is
my grandfather's body didn't get donated to science.
he was dead too long when they found him 
coiled in sleep. we made him
into ash 
& jarred him up.