Poetry

I’m not as sad about your dying.

There’s no need to make you cry baby

The guilt I carry

Coloring, exclaiming of Mickey,

This one’s loquacious

Our ICU has over 100 beds.

I walked with them for miles

I didn’t know if I should wake him

Up in the hills on a fine spring day

Here, in the sea-salt prairie ocean

He needs antibiotics,

Slam poetry

Can’t you stop?

Poem and drawing

Bones

I was once afraid of Death.

I know there’s something wrong this time.

A drop hitting water

Amidst a sea of white coats and one girl’s secret smile,

That she Trusts

Do you see this space right here?

She was late