Mask
-from Latin, masca (specter, nightmare)
My borrowed face,
incorporeal, blue—
I give you only
my eyes.
First Sunday on the Ward, Pandemic
Deft swallows nest inside the thorny crown of a stone Christ.
I whisper Our Father . . .
twice
over the scrub sink.
-Editor’s note: These two spare poems were sent to us recently by Stacy Nigliazzo, an ED nurse and poet whose work has been featured in JAMA and the Bellevue Literary Review, as well as in AJN’s Art of Nursing column. We don’t usually publish poems on this blog, but make an exception here because they seemed to us urgent and yet timeless. Publishing them implies no affiliation of AJN with any particular religion. At the same time, it’s only natural that faiths and practices of every sort are likely to be a source of strength and meaning during this time for nurses around the world.
Hi, I agree with Shawn, these two poems are beautiful and the imagery creates a lingering impression. I’m thinking of possibly publishing these two poems in our school of nursing library newsletter if we could get permission to do so. From whom would I need to get permission?
These two poems are beautiful in their simplicity. Thank you for making the exception and including them. In my view, poetry is a perfect medium to capture the emotional side of nursing. As nurses, we often feel we must suppress emotions in order to give excellent care. I would argue that exceptional care must always include an emotional connection on some level with our patients. Humans are emotional beings.