Poetry Thursdays is our initiative to highlight poetry and prose by medical students, with a new post every Thursday. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
Contributing Writer
Emory University School of Medicine
Natalie is a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine in Atlanta, Georgia class of 2026. In 2022, she graduated from Muhlenberg College as valedictorian with a Bachelor of Science in Biology and minor in Jewish studies. She enjoys reading fantasy novels and playing with her pet rabbits in her free time. After graduating medical school, Natalie would like to pursue a career in psychiatry.
Baby powder, body odor Dark red blood, pale white skin A mother’s cry, a baby’s silence Image Credit: “Baby Feet” (CC BY-NC 2.0) by Joseph D’Mello 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.
This was my patient. I sat with her, held her hand, coaxed her to share pieces of her life story from underneath the covers.
A spoken word piece dedicated to the generous donors and their families of the Donor Body Program at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine.
Waiting in the snow for the 43, / Mind focused on the cold. / The bitter wind, the bus kneeling
My patient sleeps peacefully. / I wake him guiltily. / I don’t want my face to be the first he sees.
As you search your closet / For your scrub cap, / Stethoscope, / And pants,
I am moving, yet I am going nowhere. I am going nowhere, yet I have come a long way. I do not count how many go by, but each spin demands that I keep moving. With every rotation, I take another step, another leap, one jump on this Earth. These cycles fly by, so much so that I can almost hear them as they whoosh over my head in an instant, making seconds go slow.
A bag full of dreams was all my mind possessed, / To leave my mark on the turbulent sands of time and be respected,
Finally, it’s been three months since // He and I were strangers with bad blood, / breathless in bed, / discussing the acts of giving and / receiving as indulgences, / mulling over our motivations and / the contraindications for / charity.
this weekend / I went to the sunflower patch / swinging arms with my mom and sister / starry eyed at the fields of bright gold yellow / nestled in the blue of the mountains around us.
In clinics bustling, time’s in demand, / We blend precision with a caring hand, / Not just cases or names on the roll call, / But, Patients’ stories, our familial call.
Sunshine, in the mornings, / spills. It / slips and slithers as it / tills.
Editor-in-Chief and Former Writers-in-Training Intern
Geisinger College of Health Sciences
Eshiemomoh Osilama is a medical student at Geisinger College of Health Sciences in Scranton, PA, Class of 2024. He graduated from Columbia University in 2016 with a Bachelor of Arts in biology. He enjoys reading and writing poetry, baking, theater, singing, museums, traveling, beaches and oceans, photography, and being an extraordinary guncle. Momoh is pursuing a career in psychiatry.
