I’m in a big city now
where I can’t see the stars
but I think I found God again.
He is cell on slide, probe on skin,
hand on shoulder, hand over heart.
He is crinkle of smile, snap of glove,
fine point of scalpel, whisper of His name.
He is sweat-soaked scrubs tossed in hamper,
rain-soaked shoes crossing Walnut Street.
He is lub-dub in the fifth intercostal space.
He is heart beat, heart burn, heart break.
He is house turned home, stranger turned friend,
songs sung after one too many gins.
He is frosting on cookie, wish on star,
fresh wound mended, amnesia intended.
He pokes his head into my room
after I’ve fallen asleep.
He tucks the covers around my toes.
Jenny Hong is a MS1 at the Perelman School of Medicine.
Art by Santiago Lopez, an MS2 at the Perelman School of Medicine.
