Thank you, black doctor
By Anonymous
Thank You, Black Doctor
By Anonymous
I must have looked wild
Shell-shocked
Foreign blood dripping from blue hands
Wiped across my face
Like juice.
When I saw his Black body turn white
Something changed in me.
A final indignity for this boy – my brother’s age.
My brother’s face.
Dead – like my brother.
The pit deep in my stomach sprouted.
Are we not even allowed Blackness in death?
Single-minded feet led me from the trauma bay
Out, they said. Not safe here.
Feet smarter than I was.
Dragging me through double doors,
straight to you.
Black doctor, Black medical student
Shell-shocked
By the sight of themselves.
You took me by the arm,
Grabbed it firm.
Its brother on my back —
No questions.
Where and how we found ourselves
I barely remember.
Words like witness and wellness
Poured over me heavy, like sand.
My mouth spoke without me:
He could have been me.
A hand on my shoulder.
Silence.
But for those who have learned to speak through silence
I heard you, understanding:
I’ve seen myself die a thousand times.
And I’ll see it a thousand times more.
It doesn’t get easier, you said.
But you get better at it.
I think I saw a tear
Squeeze out of dark brown eyes
Like my brother’s.
The two of us sat,
In that silence we’ve learned to live in
And speak through.
You hold me in your presence
Until I can hold myself.
I’ve got to get back.
Gloves off, face wiped –
Not ready. Not safe.
But armed with proof
I can survive.
Didactics allows anonymous submissions. This author chose to remain anonymous, but shares that they are a medical student in their final year, hoping to match into emergency medicine.