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Poetry and Medicine
January 30, 2008


JAMA. 2008;299(4):390. doi:10.1001/jama.2007.30

I was about to use all my letters:
Tsunami, a sure win!
(the first in 30 years)
and my ambitious blood rose high—
Hah!—and broke
across my Western Hemisphere.
I dropped the tiles. My favorite chair
snapped against a coast somewhere.
I sank and, speechless,
sank. Clots and dashes, bloody snot,
magnetic resonances,
all the news the same:
a broken brain.
My tongue's a fat cigar
that nothing lights.
They feed me from a tray.
You look away.
It breaks whatever's left. Friend,
look at me,
give me
your word—

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