© Susannah Gal, PhD, Patient

34 years
10 too long, you say
I didn’t see that
Coming

Fasten your seat belts
as we will be experiencing some
turbulence

Hindsight shows some signs
Silence
Ignorance was not my friend

We’ll have a smooth ride
once we’re out of these
clouds

I look for the eventual sunshine
above the clouds
Lucky to have friends
whose ears I can bend

We’ll be landing soon

Eventually,
in a new place
Until then

We’ll be facing some
more turbulence
before then

© Sigmund David, Patient

“I do not mind getting my pants wet,” my son said,
As he slid down the slide.
It was damp–the first day of Autumn.

“Higher and higher,” he urged on the tire swing.
I did as he commanded.

Little boys (as well as little girls) are not to be dismayed
By not perfect conditions: Life is full of them.

I can get too comfortable in my house
With an overcast sky, crisp outside.

the couch is too inviting. it has not stopped raining.

Someone though, has forgotten to tell my son.
He has reminded me again: Life is full of drizzly days.

And the unexpected:

The bald eagle I had never seen before
Heading for Hawk Rock.

The magnificent sunset that caught me by surprise

In a place I did not expect to be,
For my mind and body are tired.

The ruby-throated hummingbird
That invaded my backyard in the rain.

Yes, life is full of drizzly days.
And four-year-old boys who teach their fathers
What they have lost in the quest for wisdom.

 

© Angela Sedun, MFA, Patient

I meant to call–
Really. I did.

A whole year has passed amidst chaos, strife,
immense joys, much strain.

Are things so different, or do you feel like life was put on
pause?

I’ve worked harder than I can ever remember.
The kids keep growing, and now I see how fast.

How suddenly they gain their own paths–not necessarily the paths I would choose.
Mind the rudder.

Uncle Richard told me that “little kids step on your toes; big kids step on your heart.”

The first sword.

Why do they make the choices they do? What are they thinking?
Only in the moment, tossed about by the currents–

Steady your ship again.
Set your sail to the deep calm seas and learn to steady.

All around, confused seas–
Don’t go seeking them. Look for the calm.

The manifest of my year: Pax, set in a circle of thorns.

© Anthony Oliveri, Patient

So many ways
to lose a Lover–
from carelessness,
through betrayal,
or growing pains,
or Death’s final touch.
So many ways
to lose a Lover.

Some say to move on,
to get over it all,
that it’s no big thing,
it was meant to be,
just buck up and …
look on the bright side,
endings are beginnings
after all is said and done.

Deep emotions
don’t play that game,
they are ingrained,
like DNA messages
fluttering along nerves
with tricky barbs
and breezy smiles
lying in wait.

It ain’t over ‘til
it’s over–the song says,
but honestly,
it goes on and on and on
long after it’s over
no matter who or
what’s the cause
of the painful endings.

He went out for smokes.
She wanted a girls night out.
If only I had picked up the phone.
I could have/should have been there.
So many weird changes …
and then she was gone.
Did something better catch her eye?
… alone again, naturally.

If we are living,
we are also changing.
What we thought was
forever, well, it wasn’t.
Where do we go from here?
Why do we go from here?
There is a Life to be Lived!
We choose how we’ll do it.

© Justine Shultz, MA,
Public Health Sciences

the brass in my ears
weighs heavy

i’ve been pushing
their limits
for four days
now

it’s something else
to focus on

a separate pain

© Vanessa Vides, MSIV

It’s 4:45 a.m., the alarm snooze button seems a monumental distance away
Everyone else has been ordered to stay at home
Partaking in quarantine is not an option here
For if I do, who will take my passengers into the city?

What passengers you ask?
The other essential workers–nurses, doctors, etc.
They have lives to save in NYC
I need to do my part by helping them to do their part

I have an honesty though, I do also need the money
I need to pay the rent, feed my wife and
I need to send my daughter her monthly $100
I’m not all that altruistic–I cannot afford to stay home

It’s 4:45AM, the alarm snooze button cannot be pressed today
I am so cold and hot all at once
Why does everything hurt?
What is happening?

It’s March, I never get sick in the Spring
Oh no–it can’t be, can it?
I am going to call my daughter, she will know what to do
COVID-19? A test? Stay home?

My bus is a big bus, I don’t understand
There were only nurses and doctors on the bus last week, no one else
They all sat so far away
I have COVID-19?

I can die from this?
But I have to work, I need the money
I have to quarantine for two weeks?
What am I going to do?

© Barbara Antolino-Smith, RN, BSN
Retired, Department of Pediatrics

Gettysburg, Reedsville, New Bloomfield, Waynesboro.
Harrisburg, Quarryville, Lebanon, State College and Huntingdon.
Many, many others. Too numerous to mention.
Villages, towns, hamlets, cities.
Scattered visions of faces lost.
Scattered memories of events held close.
Found amid the ghosts of the past.

Others visit villages, towns, hamlets, and cities
with joyful countenances of anticipated fun, family visits and
merry reunions.
My reunion is as a sober visitor
to the remembrance of patients lost in a fog of death.

I love these country roads and towns.
I love these Pennsylvania harbors.
I anticipate my visits with a mixture of joy and sorrow.
A little guy who walked the streets of New Bloomfield.
A fun-loving teen kicking those soccer balls in Waynesboro.
The thick braids of a smiling girl loved and cherished
in the hills of Lancaster.
The frightened face of a teen surrounded by the largesse of his family in Harrisburg.
Cashtown apple orchards comforting the pain of a mother’s son
as she chases a vision of his kindness and strength.

How does the heart let go?
When will the memory fade?
When will these villages, towns, hamlets and cities become
only places on the map again?
Speeding past on the highway, when will I lose the pain?
Slowly rounding the country curves, when will their memory fade?

This odd association of mine cannot be resolved.
The villages, towns, hamlets and cities are linked to
a very real joy in knowing they existed for a time on this earth.
That together we shared what few might understand.
The best of ourselves. The most loving parts of ourselves.
Spots on the map real and true and impossible to erase.
Kids and teens real and true and impossible to erase.
Letting go and holding on, a lifelong reality.

© Makayla Lagerman, MS1

I had no reason to own black
Until 22.
No reason for knowing the smell of
formaldehyde,
Leftover casseroles reheated,
the Catholic Church on the corner of Coal Street.
No reason to worry with each surprise ring from a  parent–
“Just checking in,”
Or not–
Who insists I call when I’m free
Because I’m the busy one,
The one busy living.
But at 22,
I snip the tags off a black dress collecting dust in the back corner of a closet.
At 22, I learn death
When it taps on our shoulders and I am gullible enough to turn around.
I look back and find he’s gone.
In that moment, I learn death–
Death, but not dying.
Widow maker, but not the making of a widow.
That part comes next.
It is slower, more surprising.
Maybe harder.
At 23, I give Meme a call.
She does not cry this time.
We learn dying and we unlearn it
Minute by minute.
So I meet this sunlight today, shake its hand.
We take them together. Golden.

 

© Chandat Phan, MSII

Thought I was seeing double,
Then my vision was cleared.
Realized it was really triple,
With two like a mirror.
A full figure in the center,
That I thought was better,
Cause you could see the whole body,
But then again–it was foggy.
Two portraits crisp but small,
And a hazy one that was tall.
But you put them as one fixture,
And you get a complete picture.
Take one, Take two, Take three …
How many lenses do we need?
Till we may say we really see?

© James Thomas, Patient

I wake with my arms around you

And I know
That heaven exists

Your warm embrace, your lovely lips,

And I know
That angels live.

Then the dawn breaks and I am alone
And I know

That you are just a dream.