The Pulse Between Doors
The doors breathe open with a hiss.
Feet cross the silver line between street and triage.
The air carries alcohol swabs and a storm about to break.
A printer ticks out wristbands like veins on paper.
Someone coughs and turns away.
The monitor begins its small metronome of beeps.
A child clutches a bear with one torn ear.
Your badge rests against your chest like a soft vow.
You catch your reflection and almost wave.
Intake questions scatter like rain across glass.
Names arrive, blur, dissolve into pulse and pain.
You feel your ribs echo the doors, hinge for hinge.
A lull arrives, not gift, not threat.
Steam curls from a mug, your tea held close.
A siren folds itself into the corridor.
You think of your children asleep in their rooms.
The word safe hovers, refuses to stay.
The doors sigh again. The night restarts.
You breathe to four and step into the room.
The room breathes back and learns your name.
Inventory of Forgotten Objects
One blue sock folded under a chair.
A crossword with three empty squares and a coffee stain.
Ginger ale half gone beside a wilted carnation.
A hair tie curled into a question.
An admission bracelet peeled and folded twice.
A paperback face down as if still reading.
Tissues along the sill, pale moths at rest.
A napkin with a phone number smudged away.
A blanket corner turned under like a secret.
A safety pin inside a paper gown.
A sticker smiley face on the monitor frame.
A comb with three blond strands.
A chapstick without a cap near the sink.
A remote tuned to a channel of waves without sound.
A glove palm up on the floor.
The room keeps its own careful breath.
My name feels like paper when I speak it.
Dust clings to the windowsill under my hand.
I leave. The door closes with a soft click.
Veronica Tucker is an emergency medicine and addiction medicine physician living in New Hampshire. Her poetry explores the intersections of medicine, motherhood, and the quiet moments that hold a pulse of their own. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, with work appearing in One Art, Eunoia Review, and The Berlin Literary Review. She shares more at veronicatuckerwrites.com and on Instagram @veronicatuckerwrites.
The Marbled Sigh 