Tag Archives: nurses

Sonnet 40

by Thomas Davis

The doctor, looking down at him, her voice
as soft as early springtime rains: “I hate
how cancer takes a person, steals their choice,
and makes inevitable their certain fate.”
She paused, a stranger. Then she shook her head.
“He was extraordinary. You can tell.”
She gently touched his clutched-tight hand, the bed…

“He asks the nurses how they are. The hell
he’s going through, he wants to know if they’re okay.”
She sighs and looks at Ethel, then at me.
“This ward is tough. Old cancer never plays,
but does his business, never lets us plea

for mercy.” Silence. “Fighting him is hard.
He leaves us memories, our lives in shards.”


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

The Birth

by Ethel Mortenson Davis
To Sonja

I had no choice
because the earth and sky
threw up so much

no choice
but to accept
the High Tea Ceremony.

That night,
and all the day before,
the earth was cold
with wind-driven snow,

inhuman nurses
in an old hospital,
the father barred
from my room.

Finally your time came
in the early morning
with dark skies and gray clouds

like the snow clouds
over the mesas this morning
that came
with wind-driven snow
and ice crystals.

But in a moment,
the sun had shone
in the threatening blackness,
and a great arc of rainbow
bowed across the western
and northern skies,

making it all worthwhile.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry