Sunshine, in the mornings, / spills. It / slips and slithers as it / tills.
Endless alarms, coffee to-go, Adidas tennis shoes toe to toe./Password guesses, ID scans, room by room – endless lands.
Choice confounds a control/Whose jurisdiction knows no bounds
I wasn’t expecting the morning report. / I wasn’t expecting to see images, / The death, the blood, the open eyes, / the open hands grasping at someone / long gone. Bullets buried deep.
Bone Marrow Insufficiency/ Bullies, Meds, Insomnia/ Blatant Media Influence
In the realm of American care, I navigate/With eyes wide open, acknowledging its state
I expect the attending to leave the room after ripping off her gloves and gown. Instead she grabs a clean towel and gently wipes the patient’s forehead with the soft tenderness of a mother. I decide that this is the kind of doctor I want to be.
To be seen, / as you are, / For who you are, / Absent judgment, / Equals patient care.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”/She keeps repeating herself.
Tears in her eyes/Puddles in a funnel of wrinkles/She fingers her golden ring
It is a snowy day in April / The three of us each sit at our own windows and watch the remainder of our winters, / She says it came out of nowhere. / She means the snow maybe, or the Dementia.
I quickly realized, they allow the inner recesses of my soul to connect with my imagination, together spewing forth a wonderful concoction of syllables, metaphors and outright madness on dozens of sticky notes