Sunday, April 25, 2010

Poem: Night on call

Night on Call

- Rita Iovino, M.D.


There are sometimes such moments of magic,

when the sky and mountains melt into the dawn

when the blue-purple horizon yields to the sun,

and the trek home

becomes a moment of epiphany.

Everything is still

and only the faint noise of sparrows

permeates the air.

The exhaustion and sweat and scrubs

become an exclamation of rebirth.

The gift of being a doctor

is magnified like dandelions blowing in the wind,

and one knows the skill of giving life,

the gift of alleviating pain;

the long night suturing becomes a dream

because now one more person

becomes whole by your latex gloves.

The sun breaks into a million bright lights

as you go home to sleep.

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