by Wynne Morrison, M.D., MBE

Dr Morrison is the director of the Justin Michael Ingerman Center for Palliative Care.
She is also the Associate Chief for Faculty Affairs in the Division of Critical Care at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

Originally Published in Hospital Drive

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your eyes are full and laid bare
cuts of apple on your tray
a bed too big for you alone

the hippo game is missing pieces
swabbed down with antiseptic
clutched like a talisman

against us and other demons
everything you know is gone
the shorts and t-shirt not your own

barely hide a varied palette of
contusions from your dad’s familiar fist
the ones that can’t be seen slowest to fade

the only offerings we bring
needles, cameras, doctor coats
and a young nurse who sobs when she gets home

seeing you in the white room
as naked and as cold as a crustless piece of toast

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August 26, 2022 6:26 am

I love the surprise of the last line of this poem. The metaphor as naked and cold as a crustless piece of toast is so fresh.
I’m curious about the age of the patient in the poem?
Anyone know? Seems like a kid?

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