Contributing Writer
Tufts University School of Medicine
Zoë is an MD/MPH student at Tufts University School of Medicine in Boston, Massachusetts class of 2025. In 2018, she graduated from Brown University with a Bachelor of Arts in public health and the history of medicine. She enjoys baking bread, doing yoga, and reading novels in her free time. After graduating medical school, Zoë would like to pursue a career in internal medicine, working at the intersection of medicine and public health to address the impact of the climate crisis on health.
Waiting in the snow for the 43, Mind focused on the cold. The bitter wind, the bus kneeling Propelled me into the warm blue and yellow interior But the driver told me Wait, I let the elderly off first And I waited, Thanked her for her thoughtfulness, Shared the weather sentiment, And sat. My husband won’t turn up the heat at home, she said. But I’ve always been cold. I caught her eye …
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.
I start the day like most of us do: stimulating the needy vessels we call bodies with caffeine. As I open up my coffee jar to dispense ground Turkish coffee beans, I am met with a hint of loving bitterness. It carries a comforting brown sugar warmth that often stirs a sense of weakness given my inherent dependency on this substance but also commands secure boldness through notes of molasses and dark chocolate.
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
Contributing Writer
Mayo Clinic Alix School of Medicine
Maia Young is a third year medical student at Mayo Clinic Alix School of Medicine, who is spellbound by the intimacy, mechanisms, and excitement within the field of anesthesiology. She envisions a career translating her medical skills to settings across resource spectra and national borders. In the meantime, she listens closely, shares generously, communicates creatively, and loves deeply.
