The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine

In the Hospital

Sarah White
sarah.m.white@verizon.net

1.  Wong-Baker Faces

Fearful and mute in the hospital din,
a newcomer hears:

Tell us your pain score.  Point
to one of our men-
in-the-moon.

Zero’s
yellow
face, untinged by flame
or rage,
holds well-being in
a saucer grin—

Moon Two’s
smile curls less
and tips—
a thoughtful skiff.
Still if you hurt more
point to Four.

Now your gaze
strays to Six
whose eyes fold in
and pinch
the nose.
From his slumped mouth
all hope spills.

It’s late.
You phase past Eight
to where the Moon
hurts worst.
Tears
he’s sprouted
fuse with yours.

2.  Roommates

In angled beds,
from under dotty, gappy gowns,
three patients pray, each one  
according to her rite—

            “O Diòs ...”

            “O Nurse ...”

            “O patior ...
                        I suffer,
undergo, experience, allow ...

            Source
of Patience

and Impatiens

your notched petals
hold green and hasty secrets.”

3.  Terrible Night

Kidney stone, dinghy 
lodged in thin canal,
wakes a poet,
brings on urge to vomit, piss, 
and curse the witless boat
that lurches—ouch!—
from marsh to thicket.

Narcotics calm
offended nerves,
but influence
of pip on pipes persists
until a calculus, sluiced,

drops—whoops!—
into a cup:  
                 negligible lentil,
a lesson in the little.

4.  Cadence

At the hospital, between floors,
a synthesized woman
counsels evasion—
Please stand clear of the closing doors.

A Sabbath elevator pauses
at every floor—the message falls
on passengers—all
visitors with strained eyes—
                                    Pity them
more than a patient 
down the hall where doors
close, remain closed or
open onto other corridors.

Published: January 14, 2008