babies in jars luke simonic I was eleven or ten then, when we went to St. Luke's hospital to look at the laboratory there, and take a tour of all the cool and interesting human biological things. There must have been like six or eight of us kids and a dad or two. Jars of kidney stones like multicolored treasures and marbles some. A bladder stone, baseball sized, oblong, yellowed. "This one caused some pain kids!" Pointing finger. Jiggling Ziploc. A brain or three. An alcoholic's liver green and large. Smoker's lung. Parts cut from bodies on a show stand, like a cast of immovable players. Glass Jars of fetuses in formaldehyde lined up from smallest to largest, upon a twelve foot sill. It was just before dusk. Reddening sun ran through them, ringing on the linoleum below. Some were gray, some were darker gray. Some seemed pink, but really were gray. One had its eyes open; they were blue gray glazed over and empty. Upside down, stuffed in, staring at me, mouth agape, toes stuck out above the liquid level below the lid, as if begging my tickle. One jar held a couple dozen two inch long things that looked more like mole rats than aborts. Mesmerized by this macabre window art; my eyes flowed back and forth from beginning to end, from end to beginning. The room closed around me. Some nights since, I have crawled into one of those same jars and held my breath and hid away, feeling that cool liquid hold and preserve me. Every sound muted, but with time and each slight twitch, the reverb grew more fierce and hardened because I was alive. One was black. I remember that. Only one of the babies was black. It was an older one and the way it sat in its two gallon glass tomb, looked as if the little fellow napped and sucked his thumb. As if I could open the jar and spill upon the floor a crawling baby. Our guide picked up one of the jars halfway down the line, explaining that it was 18 or 20 weeks old, can't remember for sure. He shook the bottle a little, upsetting the settled contents. He held it out to me saying, "Be careful." I took it from him, dumbfounded, as little particles floated around in it like the snow globe I had at home on my school desk next to my bed. I asked, "Why are these babies in here?" "Various reasons" he answered, paused, as if he was going to exhort some pained explanation, but instead proceeded with, "there are various reasons, son". He made a half smile, took the jar from me and held it close to himself as he put his other hand on my shoulder, gave a quick but resolute squeeze before turning away.