Forgive the cliché, but I think of Oppenheimer watching the bomb
Is the patient delirious, staff question.
Driftwood passing as
New badge says, “Physician,”
What did you find out?
Many people have asked—”Why the eyes?”
You never forget the howl of a woman just informed that her unborn baby is dead.
I tried to answer your question the best I could, but again you asked it.
“So, what are we going to do about this?”
I met your grandparents.
Him, breathless, handcuffed to the oxygen tank in tow.
Did you know, when I called 911, I was put on hold.
“But I’ve never had this happen before.”
I’m trapped in the room—twenty-minute visit turning to sixty.
Driving in the dark to a South Jordan funeral home.
“I don’t feel worth a damn.”
Kneeling at your bedside, I see your mangled hand.
I apologize for the needle’s sting, jabbing in quick fine motions beneath your skin.
Trademark stickers, grigri, and plushie keychains adorn her walker.
The call comes in, they’re at it again
At the workplace
It’s no one’s idea of fun to watch a drug-addict father