When I was in preschool, my class was in the garden learning about the earth and life -- and in turn, death. One of my more adventurous male classmates volunteered to dig in the sanctioned dirt pile, so my teacher handed him the spade and he began to chop away at the earth. His first few piles were uneventful, but the third produced a worm divided : divided by the spade.
The worm lay on the white cement squirming and wiggling -- in separate parts. I will never forget the yellow and red glistening innards protruding from the worm's slimy flesh. Concerned and disturbed, I begged my teacher to fix the worm. She explained that the worm doctors in the ground would certainly fix him right up, and that he would be whole again soon. Eagerly, I returned the worm to his element and left him to heal.
I have now realized that there is no such thing as a worm doctor... And that what has been halved can and will never be made whole again.
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