Comedic Relief
A courteous knock on the door / Followed by a confident entry / Quickly halted by an urgent cry
Tag: 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
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center Paul L. Foster School of Medicine
Melissa Huddleston is a fourth-year medical student at Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center Paul L. Foster School of Medicine in El Paso, Texas class of 2023. In 2016, she graduated from Baylor University with a Bachelor of Science in informatics and a secondary major in classics. In 2018, she graduated from Baylor University with a Master of Public Health in community health education. She enjoys hiking, jumping rope, and reading. After graduating from medical school, Melissa would like to pursue a career in pediatrics.
To My First Patient Who Passed
Yours is the name I carry on / You were the first I mourned when gone
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
Columnist
Oakland University William Beaumont School of Medicine
Mallory Evans is a third-year medical student at Oakland University William Beaumont School of Medicine in Rochester, Michigan. She graduated from the University of Michigan in 2019 with a Bachelor of Science degree in cellular and molecular biology and a minor in German. When not studying, you can find her running many miles on woodland trails, perfecting a black bean burger recipe, or saying answers to Jeopardy! out loud at the TV. One day she hopes to pursue a career in internal medicine and pediatrics and travel to at least one place on every continent.
This is Water
This is Water is an attempt at documenting intentional living. This column will strive to highlight the extraordinary meaning of the often unnoticed, and to greet the hard and joyful parts of the medical school experience with gratitude (even when, especially when, we don't feel like it).