"Sleight of Hand"
"Oh for a stronger magic, that I could wave my arms and reach deep inside my white coat pocket, the mass vanished..."
Richard Berlin, MD, shares his poem, "Sleight of Hand."
Sleight of Hand
Old as my grandmother,
she smiles up at me,
breath gentle and lulled,
her fears distracted
by my questions and patter.
I percuss her chest,
listen to her heart,
my style cool and entertaining
as any close-up magician
until I palpate her breast,
feel her flesh
like decayed leaves crushed
by time to a star of coal.
My fingertips define the borders,
sweat beads under my arms,
thoughts flash ahead
to the incision's red arc,
the yellow bottles of poison.
Her laughter breaks my trance:
You should have seen them when I was younger.
Oh for a stronger magic,
that I could wave my arms
and reach deep inside
my white coat pocket,
the mass vanished,
my hand a heaven of diamonds
over her generous breasts.
Dr Berlin has been writing a poem about his experience of being a doctor every month for the past 25 years in Psychiatric Times® in a column called “Poetry of the Times.” He is instructor in psychiatry, University of Massachusetts Medical School, Worcester, Massachusetts. His latest book is Freud on My Couch.
