point A to point B
“Thinking is pain,” my patient muses flatly
“Thinking is pain,” my patient muses flatly
There was
dimly lit and windowless,
“How are you?”
“Anything we can get for you?”
The stage is set
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?
Breathe in,
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.
This fits
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.