Waiting in the snow for the 43,
Mind focused on the cold.
The bitter wind, the bus kneeling
Propelled me into the warm blue and yellow interior
But the driver told me
Wait, I let the elderly off first
And I waited,
Thanked her for her thoughtfulness,
Shared the weather sentiment,
And sat.
My husband won’t turn up the heat at home, she said.
But I’ve always been cold.
I caught her eye in the rearview mirror as she
Tracked true down Tremont.
Her story burning bright in her gaze
They told me I was eating the wrong things,
That it made the iron in my blood too low,
And it was my fault.
She continued on, wove in her eight child births,
Her seven surviving children,
Her first baby, her sunshine,
Who came out along with a fibrous growth
That had been bleeding her dry and
Draining her from the inside,
The cause of her coldness.
I told them it wasn’t my fault.
Her baby was injured by the blade,
As was she,
And no one told her
I’m sorry
For the misplaced blame,
For the misplaced knife.
Are you still cold?
My baby, my sunshine is 17
He brightens my worst days
And I’m no longer cold at home,
Even when my husband won’t turn up the heat.
But I’m still waiting for my apology.
Image credit: MTA New York City Transit Prepares for W (CC BY 2.0) by MTAPhotos
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
Contributing Writer
Tufts University School of Medicine
Zoë is an MD/MPH student at Tufts University School of Medicine in Boston, Massachusetts class of 2025. In 2018, she graduated from Brown University with a Bachelor of Arts in public health and the history of medicine. She enjoys baking bread, doing yoga, and reading novels in her free time. After graduating medical school, Zoë would like to pursue a career in internal medicine, working at the intersection of medicine and public health to address the impact of the climate crisis on health.