The Anesthesiologist: A Perspective

* on listening to Beethoven’s Opus 135, string quartet no. 16, third movement A wind of dried tears speaks to me whispers beyond the window pane My patient waits so long in the holding room he has fallen asleep I wake him to have him slant sleep again I will hide his person within his Read the full article…

A Walk in the City

Between deco ornamented buildings and sky cleaving steel saxophones sway, next to turned up hats, belting tunes of jazz and heated blues. People pass by, busses rev and stop, breakfast stands dot sidewalks among a rhythmic flow of feet. From pointed peaks, a tired tower lets go of a grand adornment. It falls upon a Read the full article…

Two Doctors

“He was a doctor, you know,” your wife said, when I introduced myself as your doctor. These words were still foreign then – the two syllables sharp and too intimate in the hospital room, above the tubes and twisting IV lines connecting your body, disconnected from me in my starchy white coat and this intern-resident Read the full article…

At the State Psychiatric Hospital

Colors steer him To a murky sea Frigid Waves          –enraged monsters– Breach over black rocks. Few rhymes left. Music gone. Voice smothered. Eyes stare Crystal like. “His name is David. . . Hopeless,” I’m told.

Intracranial

Carissa Anne Lee Five Stages Oil Pastel Oh, fickle memory, how it deceives! A sieve to the mundane, location of the car keys, wallet, the route he took to work each day. Erases the most crucial, too, the infant’s scent beneath her dark curls tumbling from a pink barrette, Mom’s birthday noted on the calendar Read the full article…

Mentoring (For Dr. WCW)

Williams brought over A bag of plums, A tree of white blossoms, A locomotive, Ghost- images of Her thread-bare ankles I’ve loved his poems ! The pages of his ‘Collected Works’ all dog-eared now, Tear-stained, Or smiling I knew that woman , Sitting at the window A child on her lap tears on her face Read the full article…

Recommendation

Reject the reports, the scans, the needles, the hospital windows sealed against flight, and cold tile floors, clear fluid emptying into your chest, pills lined and ready on the counter. Go. Find Buddy Guy’s breaking strings and solos, pieces of Janice’s heart, bourbon and beer tabs. Go– meet at the crossroads. Eat yucca in Ibor Read the full article…

Circle of Life

A poem inspired by a term on the renal transplant service. Envisioning kidney transplant from the perspective of the organ going through death into reincarnation. It arrives in a styrofoam box Hand-delivered sometimes Otherwise DHL ultra-express With chequered police tape skirting the scene and the cold purgatory of semi-death cased inside in an iced cocktail Read the full article…

Under the Bridge

It’s just a choice of what we want to lose The moon hangs in the cold crisp air all night To wash me and my pain in gentle light My bro’s harp wraps my soul in smoky blues Without some nurse’s orders I sip booze And smoke fine weed and cigs to my delight It’s Read the full article…