Braid a child’s hair in precise beaded rows
And shave a scalp just enough to access
Skin flap, skull, brain, tumor
Fold over a learner’s fingers to guide a needle
This angle here with this much pressure
Slide together into a hidden space
Sew on lost buttons, fix torn seams
And shut a jagged wound with neat stitches
Wishing the unseen harms could be repaired
Feel gently for an absent pulse
To confirm what silence already knows
And drag new humans wailing into brightness
Tabor Flickinger is a poet and primary-care physician who lives in Charlottesville, VA. Her works have appeared in Pulse as well as in The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, Hospital Drive and The Healing Muse.
“This poem honors the many tasks performed by healthcare workers, both at home and at work, both mundane and life-changing. We can impart care for others in every action through mindful presence.”
© 2022 Pulse - Voices from the Heart of Medicine, Inc. All rights reserved.
4 thoughts on “Our Hands”
I love the imagery. I love the way you convey the wholeness not only of full spectrum medical practice but also the doctor as whole person.
Being in the middle of the challenges and joys of teaching new residents – wondering when to guide and when to step in – this poem resonated with me.
Wow! Beautiful!
Dr. Flickinger, this was a wonderful poem, done with an economy of language; you covered quite a bit of ground in only a dozen lines. Thank you for ending my week on such a soulful note.