Anonymous
For months, I’ve tried getting rid of the
demons that manipulate the marionettes in my
head, only to see those demons gave me
something to feel.
Something to get angry about.
Something to fight against.
serotonin
Tag: Poetry
Pinion
Vinamratha Rao, Class of 2028
fresh red streaks in the snow-white bank
seeping through fabric stretched across her back,
scored for each round after round
in this mouth of hallways eating a tail of rooms.
A Brief Hx of Daucus Carota, As Read to the Admissions Committee
Linzy Kirkpatrick, M2, Class of 2023
Genetic modification is the process of altering the DNA of an organism. A process, of selective cultivation for traits deemed to be beneficial, beautiful, robust. In the hands of harvesters, what was wild becomes commonplace; countercurrents of cuisine built upon sturdier eats and thicker meats and drought-resistant grains, passed down to become culture. Somewhere along the way, an errant hand plucked up a root —forsooth! his plan turned humble purple or white to yellow, then orange. Continue reading “A Brief Hx of Daucus Carota, As Read to the Admissions Committee”
A Shadow in the Light
Anonymous
If all we see is our own goodness,
but reject the darkness within,
where does that really put us?
When our side is the only truth,
the world around us crumbles,
and spiritual death takes our youth.
But what if we see our evil,
listen to the figure calling from the dark wall,
the voice who tries to catch us
well before we fall? Continue reading “A Shadow in the Light”
They Find Their Needs Met in You
Connor Stubblefield, M3, Class of 2022
I
The row of pink lines, round faces tousled at every frill and trill by the wind, finds its needs met in you.
II
The shorter friends, purple and yellow bunches tossed not as much by the wind as by the butterflies and bees that leap and jump from their platforms—yes, these too, the flowers and the bright flitting patterns under the sun, find their needs met in you. Continue reading “They Find Their Needs Met in You”
Summer is the Time of Remembrance
Connor Stubblefield, M3, Class of 2022
Summer is the time of remembrance.
To know what is coming in the cold winter,
to know what is past in the fresh spring.
New life passes away,
and the cold washes it all away,
prepares the ground for the bulbs to spring up.
Cyclical.
To know one’s passing is to know rebirth.
Behind a Mask
Ben Harstine, M4, Class of 2021
I speak behind a mask.
I smile with my eyes.
You nod and smile back.
I see it, I surmise.
and adam fell into a deep sleep
Vinu Rao, M1, Class of 2024
I.
from the dust emerged a swirling cyst of layers
tumbling into one another
until the father’s hands enveloped the incomplete.
his fingers laced together tight,
a squeeze away from crushing it all
and starting all over again,
he breathed and knew
he had formed
a seal his children cannot help but break.
II.
the children of god
burned and crushed and uprooted
flowers and trees of Eden
to find what will maim and disfigure
their naked bodies
Blue Skies
J.R. Lott, M4, Class of 2020
What am I to do if the skies are gray?
If I paint them blue does that erase their nature?
What if the skies are meant to be gray?
Would I be wrong to hide their color?
I Tried to Change a Patient
Ben Harstine, M3, Class of 2021
I tried to change a patient,
instead they changed me.
I crashed into a brick wall, you see.
I poked.
I prodded.
I begged.
I implored.
Med Intima 