Poetry

"Remember? Remember wanting to play every minute, as if that was why we were born?"

"How free is our will if our fate is decided by our melanin. What is the meaning of Black lives when so many people don’t think we matter?"

"Of all the questions you might want to ask about angels, the only one you ever hear is how many can dance on the head of a pin..."

"...when skilled hands and callused fingertips pick sweet equations where practice becomes song."

"Hear the story of wood, cut and stained and carved for someone’s need."

"Touched by the hard times, flowers shed tears. Grieved by separations, birds are startled in their hearts."

A psychiatrist reflects and laments on the state of the country.

"Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes, Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes."

"...yet all the passengers filed out saying, “Thank you! We didn’t know a doctor would still help in an emergency.” But I was like the heroes on the evening news declaring, “No big deal. Just doing my job,” and meaning it..."

"The night is swallowing Daylight. We sit down to eat."

"The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight each May morning. If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love."

“The wind has donned your hair...

“The fundamental act of medical care is assumption of responsibility.”

"Otherwise it's spring, and everything looks frail; the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves are full of infant chlorophyll, the very tint of inexperience."

"I pulled my scuffle hoe hard through the clay’s crust and heard the blade scrape metal and earth."

"And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold, And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold."

"I shall forget civilization, I shall forget color, caste, I shall move in a fantastic world of raceless men and women..."

"rescued from the filth of paradise, hosed off, shining, my cracked fingernails caked with dirt."

"The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters, with four dead and eleven wounded."

"The buttonholes, the sizing, the facing, the characters. Printed in black on neckband and tail. The shape, the label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt."

"...seeking and longing for the garden of cherry blossoms..."

A psychiatrist reflects on the importance of time... and living in the moment.

"It was word and note, The wind the wind had meant to be—A little through the lips and throat. The aim was song—the wind could see."

"We were three men alone in a ward room built for fifty, dust film on the floor..."

"I can smell the aroma of spring tulips filling the air-spreading peace and good cheer..."

"But where are the songs of praise for church basements? That lower level, that rock bottom room sunken & reverent with flickering lights..."

"For we are a healing and a growing greenhouse..."

"We were three men alone in a ward room built for fifty, dust film on the floor..."

"For you and I, know that this space, this pace, this race is a gift to be shared, craved, and loved."

"In the corridor, he demands a confession: Who peeled back his bandage? Who let him look?"