Poetry

"The Child is father of the Man..."

A psychiatrist mourns as he reflects on the Supreme Court decision....

"It is not a place out there but a place in here. I catch on its barbed wire in both places."

A psychiatrist reflects on the 2 recent tragedies at sea...

"I sit with my half-filled glass and a life we knew we were choosing..."

A psychiatrist poetically reflects on Juneteenth...

"But you who know all will never comprehend our resentment of perfection, the flawlessness you take for granted..."

"...this memory held on chest, in hand..."

A psychiatrist shares his thoughts and reflections after an inaugural poem receives a "warning"...

"Scores of textbooks later we’re a pair of pagers and missed dinners, companions in sleep-deprived nights."

"I am not comforted by the morning after the night."

A psychiatrist reflects on the passing of a music legend.

"We lower a plastic tray on his ribs as if food can stop the dying..."

How can creativity help dismantle racist structures?

A psychiatrist reflects on the deviations in today's world...

"Nothing is so beautiful as Spring..."

A psychiatrist reflects on the death of Jordan Neely, only a couple of weeks after his murder...

In honor of Mother's Day...

"Everyone thinks the brain is so complicated, but let’s look at the facts."

"We lower a plastic tray on his ribs as if food can stop the dying..."

"life, liberty, and happiness pursue survival hanging in the distance..."

"I had no expectation though of actually catching a fish when somehow we did."

"And I believe that the current state of America is seeing rivers of red minus the white and blue..."

A psychiatrist reflects on trivial times...

"Migrants pay for safety. We pay people to believe that what we tell them is true, especially when we have spared them the hardest facts to hold."

"Life is short, though I keep this from my children."

When faced with struggles, stress, and burnout, sometimes the best medicine is simply letting go...

"...my father’s spade saving last year’s mud, a long-tined rake, the swan-neck hoe..."

"Each spring, when earth warms and begs me to open its dark skin, I carry them past flowering apples and pears to the quiet square of garden..."