The patient who said I was a “round-eye” and thus not a slant-eye / The patient who said in the elevator that he knows Chinese: “ching, chang, chong”
Nine months of sabbatical / I meet them in the airport lobby / of the newborn nursery.
twenty-two nights you kept me awake. i counted / them last night, counted them as i lay on my bed with / eyes propped open, trying everything i could to
I dance with hula hoops as a form of self-expression and catharsis. I have been practicing this art form for over four years now, and it always amazes me how much more there is to learn.
I often arrive before sunrise and leave long after sunset, enduring unpredictable and challenging schedules while juggling multiple competing responsibilities.
You are so soft / in voice and touch, / gliding through / the mines that are set in
I have always wanted to fly / but they wouldn’t let me / until I signed a contract / built on blood and tears
I’m supposed to be able to explain this. / The details to paint a picture. / But it’s too much, and I don’t want to relive it.
“And your socks, too,” I said / She stooped to reach her feet / And the liner of the exam table crinkled and popped
Once upon a time, in distant land, / we’d write down patient information with a pen in our hand.
The waves beat; / a cold, relentless torrent. / You stand against them / taking the impact
Humor… / it’s what saves me / keeps me from dying inside