You could have killed me today

Artem/AdobeStock

POETRY

The Gerald F. Berlin Prize is awarded for creative writing, prose, or poetry, authored by students, nursing students, graduate students, residents, and fellows based at UMass Chan Medical School, Berkshire Medical Center, Worcester Medical Center/St. Vincent's, Baystate Medical Center, or Lahey Hospital & Medical Center. This year’s winner is Jaslyn Kindel, MD, a 3rd year resident in Obstetrics and Gynecology at UMass. Today, Dr Kindel shares with you a piece inspired by a moment that occurred in her time in medical school.

This is a poem written as a reaction to someone's misdirected monologue after a car accident that occurred in my last year of medical school. Poetry and art are important for healing, as an outlet for expression. They can help you to process emotional events and move forward with a clearer mind.

You could have killed me today

You could have killed me today.

You smashed into my car like a tomato smashes onto a bad comedian’s face in those old movies.

You could have killed me today.

You claim you don’t know this area, but don’t red lights mean “stop” everywhere?

That green light was more stale than the sad bag of tortilla chips in my cabinet.

I don’t want to hear it.

You could have killed me today.

Girl, I don’t care that your husband is taking a test to become a police officer –

Those people aren’t my friends.

Why is that important to you right now?

You could have killed me today.

You said you were looking for a gas station, but –

Didn’t you see me?

Are you one of those who “don’t see color?”

My white car shielded my black ass from your green eyes.

So, how can I make myself more visible to you?

You could have killed me today.

Stop making this about you. This isn’t about you.

You are fine, but my neck hurts.

Yeah, this happened minutes ago, but my shoulders have carried y’all’s weight for centuries.

Don’t believe me? Go ahead and ask George.

You could have killed me today,

And, even now, as I listen to you blab –

You still don’t see me.

The surprise of seeing your car in my trajectory sent shivers up my spine,

Just like the hand of that nurse in Ionia,

Whose unwelcome and uninvited stroke

Of my hair

Shook my soul deeper than her reach over me for sanitizer.

How could you see me?

You don’t know any better.

Unless you’re like that one chick in anatomy lab,

And you’re married to a Black man and have “brown” children,

But the cadaver is “colored,” though,

And they “look different” in your eyes.

Of course, they do.

You were only taught to see the differences.

You could have killed me today.

Yet you are wrapped up in a monologue about how you’re going to need a new car,

How you just got this car from your parents,

While I’m wrapped up thinking about how your parents could even get you a car,

While mine are struggling to keep the lights on.

Shoot, I’m struggling to keep my lights on.

For generations, my blood has struggled to keep the lights on.

Preservation of our light is a reflex now –

Knees bent, head down, hands up.

You could have killed me today.

Oh, wow, my nose is bleeding,

Bright red staining the rim of my lip.

Bright red like your face right now as you frantically search for your phone –

A phone that probably went flying from your hand when you hit me.

A phone that you need so you can call your husband.

A phone that could be used to call an ambulance,

Because I am freaking bleeding.

How can you not see me?

You could have killed me today.

And if I had died, I doubt you’d see me as I am.

Would you see the blood that runs through my veins just as yours does?

Would you see my chest rise and fall with each of your breaths?

Would you see the crust in my eye as your dried morning tears?

Would you see the curve of my breast as a deterrent of your appetite?

Would you see the light fading from my gaze as a reflection of lost stars?

Would you see the flatness of my expression as the end of your world?

Would you see me then?

You could have killed me today.

Dr Kindel is currently a 3rd year resident in Obstetrics and Gynecology at UMass. Sexual freedom and reproductive and racial justice are her main interests in medicine. She believes art is central to being human. She is looking to incorporate art into an educational program to promote effective communication on the labor and delivery floor.