https://www.insearchofsukoon.com/o0qx1e8 by Tabor Flickenger
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https://brako.com/en/vx7mxyhv5 Remove the dressing later, as instructed.
A little dried blood. Three neat blue sutures.
Not so bad. Not so bad.
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Till my fingers brush the prickly alien patch
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But descended, pushed down into the bowels
Frayed nerve ending pulse, twist, shudder
go site I work like all is normal. I tell no one.
I care for others’ pain and push my own deeper.
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Sing it, Bob Marley. The radio is a sign.
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Press my face into his curls and
Listen to his breathing in the dark
follow url Author Bio: Tabor Flickinger, MD MPH, completed medical school and internal medicine residency at University of Virginia School of Medicine. She currently practices as a general internist and clinician educator. Her poems have appeared in Tramadol Online Overnight Pulse, the Yale Journal for Humanities and Medicine, and go to site Hospital Drive.
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