Sunday, September 28, 2008

Poem: Untitled

Untitled

Cold hands, disinfectant pooling
along the creases of my palm
soaking into the index cards
flipped and unread
Nurse talking to the attending
in hushed whispers
and I wonder what I missed
Perhaps a monstrous spleen
or a bout of petechial rashes
or blood exploding out of her eyes
even though I was just there
with the little old lady
in no apparent (or is it acute?) distress
wondering why a cut that didn’t hurt
needed stitches
Now facing a senate of experience
awaiting my patient presentation
I realized I skipped family history
since cuts aren’t genetic, or are they?
and though I knew exactly
what I wanted to say
my dry mouth, irregular heart
held my tongue captive

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