It was pink / like the flowers he buys his wife. / It was not uniform.
The motor commands that choreograph speech are a privilege to possess, though I frequently find myself thinking / about silence, / and the reasons for which I may choose to leave it unbroken.
Enthusiastic. Proud. Motivated. I smile sheepishly as I approach the coastal town of Pondicherry, nestled in tropical South India.
Jagged shards of lightning playfully dance across the horizon, / their shrieks of war struggling to keep up … / I hesitantly about-face and land my gaze upon his ethereal face.
There is pain on her face. / I’m walking on the busy sidewalk, / I don’t know her.
Open. / Open abdomens. / Idealized organs from Netter’s in the flesh.
Soon, / There / Will be / A true cure.
In the theater I saw you, / white coat and big eyes.
I have stood on both sides of the line– / The line between mother and medic; / The line between parent and practitioner.
time, / its lifespan ceases to exist / as the gold warmth of your hazel eyes surround me
I strode down hallways, winding ‘round to meet / A sailor old and take to him his meal. / A gentle bounce in every step on beat, / This home to many always builds my zeal.
A canvas / Of delicately oiled / Skin, stretched taut