March 2020 One inch more than the measure of me, and one inch less than that of my father. It’s been a while since I lined up, back to back. But if I did, the space between us would only read two inches. Maybe less now that he is older. Nearly sixty. Closer to the next decade than the last. It’s common knowledge that people shrink as they get older. Or at least I think …
Upon meeting the new children I was babysitting, the little girl Elason immediately asked me if I brought my stethoscope. Her mom had told her that I was a medical student. In the eyes of Elason and Kaje, that made me a superhero. It didn’t matter that I was at the bottom of the food chain in the medical world.
like breath in our lungs / we do not notice it / until it is gone
I am from wide-toothed combs / pulled through tangled hair. / I am from rumbling yellow school buses
Yet another Black man murdered. / I am not Black, I am not White, but I am American. / We were established on the idea of a collective “we” — we, the people, despite creed or color.
A mourning sun cries as she tucks away / the night to uncover red and blues / lumps of fabric and skin on gritty sand below.
There’s so much more to do, / there’s so much more to say, / I just hope we can change / and create a new way.
Am I essential? / A med student waiting for change, / inundated with facts and figures. / Am I just in the way?
I agree that protesting is best done in peace, / But wasn’t that tried by taking a knee? / Or hashtags that said Black Lives Matter, / And praying that change would come with the chatter.
I stand for justice and peace; / I stand for equity alongside equality. / I stand until the hate crimes cease.
Tonight, there are families who will go to bed / Without having eaten dinner. They will slip / Through sheets of faded blue, stained with
“I still feel the same,” she says / after three weeks of ECT. / Monday / Wednesday / Friday —