To My First Patient Who Passed
Yours is the name I carry on / You were the first I mourned when gone
Poetry Thursdays
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
Stanford University School of Medicine
Brian Smith is a first-year medical student at the Stanford University School of Medicine in Stanford, California, a member of the starting class of 2021. In 2019 he graduated from Stanford with a Bachelor of Science in biology and a minor in English, and in 2020 he graduated from Stanford with a Master of Science in biology. He enjoys writing poetry and narrative medicine, as well as running and reading in his free time. In the future, Brian would like to pursue a career in surgical oncology.
DNR
20 / still / except / her chest rising, falling
“Behind”: A Poetic Reflection of the Beginnings of M1
The clock behind me ticks / As the seconds line up with the cicadas’ hiss, / I hear the children outside, and the cracks of sticks
It’s Okay To Say Goodbye
As the door swings open, it hits the chair that was shifted more than usual. / Next to the computer sits a 94-year-old woman in a wheelchair / who is here for one last visit.
It’s all in the mind.
I’m 19, I was caught trespassing. / They said I was acting “unusual.” / No reason really.
Life.
A seedling, a baby — / the most vulnerable state. / Roots, placenta ground into mother — / wholly dependent on a magnificent caretaker.
Ms. Metaphysics
I am sitting in school / but I am also thinking of you. / Yes, I do / wonder how consciousness / wraps round and round / this hunk of meat, / how chunks of flesh / sustain your metaphysical feat.
Weather This Weather
if we can just cling / and weather this weather, / we can make some things / much better and better.
A Blue-Lit Room
In a hospital room lit blue / By the rays entering in from the clouded sun
COVID Burnout
I’m not the first to think / under my breath, even out loud: / To test positive for Covid. / Even after this morning.
An Ode to Paul Hoover
Secret / The caterpillar munching on hair / beneath your scrub cap
2020
Some days, I only feel disillusion of the soul / that yearns for bear hugs, game nights, Nana’s pecan pie.
Editor-in-Chief Emeritus
Emergency Medicine Resident, UC Davis Medical Center
Sam is an emergency medicine resident at UC Davis Medical Center. He attended the Mayo Clinic School of Medicine, graduating in 2021. In 2017, he graduated from the United States Air Force Academy with a Bachelor of Science in biochemistry. He enjoys reading, writing, yoga, skiing and rock climbing in his free time.
Note: The opinions expressed by Sam on in-Training are his own. They do not reflect the opinion of the US Air Force, Dept of Defense, or US government.