flow and ebb
we are uncomfortably close.
the backs of our hands brush against
what could have been.
how can i contain
my panic, your frenzy, the rush
of our collective, impending
i look backwards -
at the banks of missed chances
(and glances between the lines)
and solemn rows of unread books.
it is in a cold, white-lit library that you and
i will prepare to face what i don’t know
i don’t know.
screaming, kicking, pulling
at the right to be less responsible,
less punctual, less learned
and more free.
(this is an attempt at poetry - about MBBS)
I cut my finger on the coffee grinder in cold storage yesterday. It may sting to use handrub but I haven’t tried (ie haven’t been in the wards)
The calluses on my palms are returning though I think their stay will be discreet.