Gratitude Monday/The ghost of life: trying to fix up a human

Today I’m grateful for all the medical professionals who are literally putting their lives on the line to care for COVID19 patients—in addition to everyone else needing healthcare. These doctors, nurses, EMTs, physicians assistants, medical and nursing students, retirees and others are working grueling hours with little or no protection around the world—in rich countries and poor. I cannot imagine what hell they’re going through, but I send them all respect, admiration and gratitude for their caring and their courage.

So today’s National Poetry Month entry is by the Twentieth Century American poet, Anne Sexton. I don’t think it needs any introduction; it says everything.

“Doctors”

They work with herbs

and penicillin

They work with gentleness

and the scalpel.

They dig out the cancer,

close an incision

and say a prayer

to the poverty of the skin.

They are not Gods

though they would like to be;

they are only a human

trying to fix up a human.

Many humans die.

They die like the tender,

palpitating berries

in November.

But all along the doctors remember:

First do no harm.

They would kiss if it would heal.

It would not heal.

If the doctors cure

then the sun sees it.

If the doctors kill

then the earth hides it.

The doctors should fear arrogance

more than cardiac arrest.

If they are too proud,

and some are,

then they leave home on horseback

but God returns them on foot.