Healer, apparently

Neha Perumal

Healer, apparently

This is, I am

But when have I ever

Done good with my hands? 

When I stood at your bedside, your

eyes squeezed shut in pain 

Your cervix was pink 

I called out your name

You looked at me then

Through mascara and mist

Tubing went in you, I

offered you my fist

“I’m proud of you,” I tried

You’d rejected my touch

Did you even know my name? 

I hadn’t expected as much

A cervix, bloody-battered

A mark of womanhood

You deserved better

Had my presence done you good? 

Or had you wished I’d disappeared? 

Was I too much a bother? 

Every day I wake

And wish I were smaller.

–

A man welled with tears

They pooled at his chin

He was meager and scraggly

He’d grown far too thin 

Each teardrop that fell

I’d think of my hand, how 

I’d place it on his thigh

I’m a coward. I can’t. 

These hands should bring comfort

It’s what they were trained for

Now I don’t even trust

The wrists that they lay on 

There were tissues above us

I didn’t even give you one 

Were you asleep when you realized 

The false promises I’d spun? 

Was my face full of earnest

when you poured out your heart? 

I thought it was, I swear to god

Did I make you want to barf? 

I promised you better

Was I too much a bother? 

Every day I wake

And wish I were smaller. 

Neha Perumal is an MS3 at UMass Chan Medical School. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, art, and film. She is from Westborough, Massachusetts.