Rewritten talent

When I was young, I wrote poetry,
Without limits,
Before time turned to 30- minute appointments
And words became analysis.

My voice didn’t distill conversations into problem lists
Or psychosocial formulations,
It spoke for the wonderment of the things,
that ached to be said.

Medical school taught me efficiency,
Words always needed to delineate a purpose
Residency expected me to be careful in what I wrote…
Gradually, my metaphors got replaced
With measurement-based checkboxes.

I miss the girl who would sit with sorrow 
And not need an assessment
Who could listen, empathetically,
Without making a diagnosis and a plan.

But I still strive-
To find poetry, in my work...

In the way my patient pauses,
Before naming a loss.
The courage it takes to say,
“I don’t know myself anymore”

My old talents didn’t disappear, |
they just changed their appearance.
I transform what I once wrote,
Into presence, into staying…
Believing that life, even if fractured,
Still speaks volumes.

And when I leave my hospital alone at night,
Tired and sometimes unfinished,
Thinking about my patients
I remind myself that this too- is a kind of art
Carefully signed and documented,
Leaving us both less lonely.

Hopefully…

-Kayjay.