“what the humble remember,” “fears rise and pass,” and “a truth”

(for Ava Lynam)

nursing teaches a heart attitude

not learned from studies alone

we become genuine strangers closer than friends

compassionate for physical, spiritual worth

with cores that cannot turn from service

from the courage to feel

at the hospital door we learn

to leave life’s hard parts we carry to it—

a sister’s first son, miracle of early birth

another’s, disaster of sudden death

brother hardened by drink or drug

to a fallen snow no sun can thaw

a father’s mistress who marries him

then freezing a few months in

leaves a widowerhood-and-now-divorced man

riddled by regret in the lone dark

our desire for a new job when caring gets tested

inside the hospital we learn

to carry, and often apt to leave, who we are

providing security to a dancer

trying to walk after a fall, her moments

shared with those who see her cautions

and strengths alone as remarkable—

contentment like a zephyred song

to the musician who hears it while restructured

fingers work to compose free from dissonant chords—

a relationship to a painter that he calls

unique, wandering on canvas past

episodes of rheumatoid arthritis in both wrists

to capture leaves the west wind scatters

together with the stride of soul mates newly amended

outside the hospital we learn

not to pick up what’s left at the door when we enter—

exhausted, sometimes numb, but with a better attitude

we relish stillness instead, a silence

in which we take all emotions, empowerment

enablement we’ve poured into our patients

and pour them back into our-selves, a kindness

true humility produces alongside a first blessing

always remembered—at shift’s end, we get to go home

truth is light

exposing good and bad

that dark does not distinguish

and from nurse to patient

this promise daily holds

darkness of all kinds

cannot exist when light comes

just today, a patient brought

her burdens for me to carry

and I put myself in her shoes

a harsh, jarring diagnosis

entangle the mind with roots of fear

disabling plans to go forward

diving deep to destroy any desire

or sense of progress in her—

I tell her, reach for the light

a way to walk through these woods

and not trip over those roots, to step

ahead and not fall into holes

to keep on the right path that breaks

even the heaviness in her room

what do you like to do, I ask

make shawls, hats, blankets

organize things into their own places

so, people can go right to it, she replies

and talks a while about this harmonious service

you’ll never stumble now, I say

your light can help you see how to live—

a genuine silence, then we smile

during the way back to my life

I reach for the light too, gaining

understanding from the day’s

walk to growth, steps to maturity—

in this peace, I seek power for tomorrow

to help patients see they need not hide

under a bowl, but share the truth of grace

standing on God’s gifts to them

where darkness can’t remain—then

I take off the daily burden I’ve put on

hoping to show that no one is ever alone

(for Mysheka)

little black child scared of short hair
wouldn’t grow right so Mom got it cut
I was seven and worried about stuff
kids called me—plain ugly and boy girl

so, I thought wanting to play with wigs
to look pretty like anything but me later
initiated my divorce despite reasons
varying around my husband’s infidelity

not my fault he agreed not blaming me
but citing in our bedroom that night his
new girl’s hair, flirtatious curve, the small
ratoon she mothered—son we didn’t have

yet, distress over my short hair still rubs
feeding a lack of self-worth, self-image
self-respect, blanketing kindness, integrity
needed to build, not break, relationships

but with uncontested disunion and assets
I also found a freeing chance to draw out
the woman he lost, I’ve become, planting
daisies today, hair a-flow in deep waves