by Vivian J. Hua*

Beneath our fingertips, your
bruises ripen under lamplight.
We offer you small morsels
of grief – you take
inside your mouth.
You offer us
your wound –
Inside, the soul soaks in silence.
Your body closes.
We, who can offer you
nothing but facilitations
of pain, sit quietly among
the whirring machines.
Meaningless gods, we think
of tombs.

• Vivian Hua is a 5th year medical student at Stanford School of Medicine. She is pursuing a career in dermatology and is passionate about the intersection between dermatology and the medical humanities. Email: vhua@stanford.edu.