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.
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.
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.
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.
Contributing Writer
UNC Chapel Hill School of Medicine
Habiba Ahmed is a medical student at UNC Chapel Hill SOM interested in going into pediatrics! She attended the University of Kentucky for undergrad, where she obtained a B.S. in neuroscience. She is passionate about kiddos, advocacy, equity and inclusion, social justice, narrative medicine, patient-centered care, and a good iced latte. She also loves singing and doing henna tattoos!
