DVTs
Studying blood clots / While I sit for hours on end / Affixing my own.
Studying blood clots / While I sit for hours on end / Affixing my own.
You’ve taken everything / Nothing is left
Screams. Tears. Despair. / A sense of sadness in the atmosphere.
Uvalde / I hear the cries of children as they play at the school across the street / They are joyful and exuberant as they play in the Texas heat / unaware of the fear that will soon be unleashed
The hospital room is / fair, square, sterile — / by its vapid / medical posters / and lusterless hospital tools.
Ruchica Chandnani, Class of 2024 at the Arkansas College of Osteopathic Medicine, contributes this poem as an in-Training writer and current managing editor of the publication since 2021.
Tears for the dead, tears for the living / who persist in this world that is so unforgiving
In my white coat, / I ask for forgiveness. / Forgive me, / to the weary homeless man
General: / Patient is in NAD, / except for being awoken at 7 a.m. by someone he has never met
Dead eschars are excised. / Skin grafts grow like flowers / Repotted for new life.
Grandpapa had a gift for storytelling. / Sitting on the two-legged stools at the end of the Hutong,
Bleary-eyed, / Surgical cap awry, / I follow in a single file line.