Thick Skin
They say to be tough is to have thick skin, but I say to have thick tears. / Skin? It can collect pimples, papercuts, and pus, can be scratched, scraped, and sliced.
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.
Writer-in-Training
Thomas Jefferson University
Benjamin Meyers is a third-year medical student at Thomas Jefferson University. In 2015, he graduated from the University of Michigan with a Bachelor of Science in neuroscience. He enjoys watching Michigan sports, working on a podcast when he can, and reminiscing about the videos he used to make for Scientific American. In the future, Ben would like to be a medical correspondent.
Head in Our Hands
Take him to the ICU, / Now. / Trauma, Level 1, coming from just outside of triage.
Death Reel
The doctor motioned to sit, turned a chair / to face the monitor. A perfectly lovely office. / Natural light from the barren window / gathered in circles around my feet.
The Infinite
Blue latex feels slick against / my hands. I grip my instrument tightly, / surprised breath escaping me as / the scalpel quickly reveals
Riddle
It does not grace your ears, / but you can hear it. / It does not touch your skin, / but you feel its pull. / It can’t be seen or read / but nonetheless, it guides you.
Your Body
Your body lay on the table, wrapped in shrouds / while robed students gathered around, / Your body lay on the table, skin leathery and strong, / I imagined what stories it bore, what paths it traveled along.
Impact of a Cadaver
Gloves first, then scalpel blades gathered, / instructor books and an atlas. / What yearning and churning my mind feels, / unsure what learning to expect.
first death
After hours of struggle, noise, / knife and clamp and lung flapping wetly / like a broken bird wing in an open chest, / there is this part, the dismantling.
first code
“We kept him alive to let his family say goodbye, / and sometimes that’s the biggest victory.”
Two Beds
Motionless, a man awakes from his stupor of heart. Relief from sharpness, the pooling and swelling.
The Streets of Sarajevo
Red blood flows, red lights flash, / Down the streets of Sarajevo. / I wonder which will win today: / Hermes’ staff or Ares’ spear?
Stomach
The burning taste / of acid in the throat / is a warning.
Medical Student Editor and Contributing Writer
UT Southwestern Medical School
Steven is a third-year medical student at UT Southwestern Medical School in Dallas, Texas (Class of 2022). In 2018, he graduated from Brigham Young University with a Bachelor of Science in microbiology and Russian. He enjoys eating curry, writing poetry, and hiking in his free time. In the future, he would like to pursue a career in primary care and global health.