Home Visit

You passed the limits
of my knowledge with your
most recent diagnosis, pills and prods
now the specialist’s domain. I hold
hold your hand and listen. My stethoscope
curls in my pocket, dormant
as a sleeping cat.
Your husband calls me
by my first name here, heralding
a new intimacy. He offers me a whisky.
I settle on a soft drink. You both say
you’re honored I came. Such a strong
word for how little I can do.
You tell me about
the new drug you’re taking.
I know you have little time. I won’t
be back again. But there is hope
in your clear blue eyes,
so I let it lie there.

Published in Pulse: Voices From the Heart of Medicine March 27, 2026