[vc_row content_placement=”top”][vc_column][vc_custom_heading source=”post_title” font_container=”tag:h1|text_align:left|color:%231e73be” use_theme_fonts=”yes”][vc_custom_heading text=”By Elisabeth Preston-Hsu, MD, MPH” font_container=”tag:h4|text_align:left|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1708018869633{padding-bottom: 30px !important;}”][vc_column_text]Download the article (pdf)[/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]This poem is dedicated to Doris Armour, MD.

Leaving this season lush with life, you’ll connect

to a greener one. You’ve sketched a map
of terrains traveled to lay out the journeys ahead.
You’ve seen the microscopic proof of cells and vessels,

how grafting injury fastens matte finish of skin, its divinity
pinned on your hands, yet unfinished. You’ve written
an atlas of these wonders for me, shown me how

an injury may bring kindness, unexpected
nourishment, or a life undone. Where dusky tissue
leans into a penumbra of viability. Where epithelium

charts a sunrise. Where a pulse aches for its finding.
No matter that these roads may be uncanny:
Guide me through mysteries and wonders

where you’ve already stepped. For now, we stand
rooted in this season you’ve blessed. Soon,
you’ll be drowsing with books, settled

among family along far flung archipelagos strung
like charms on your bracelet. Listen to their
clink and rustle. Clasp God’s hand and look

to the sky where we watch the same stars.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row el_id=”author-about”][vc_column][vc_column_text]
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.[/vc_column_text][vc_custom_heading text=”About the Author(s)” font_container=”tag:h3|text_align:left” use_theme_fonts=”yes”][/vc_column][/vc_row]