"When The Poet Happens To Be A Nurse"
Rattle Issue #28, Winter 2007
At social functions, when someone asks me what I do for a living, I answer that I'm a nurse, and that I also write poetry. As a rule, the conversation then turns down the path I've taken as poet. Few people ask about the nursing (unless of course they happen to be nurses too). Few are curious about the connection between nursing and poetry.
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The Sister on the Chronic Ward: A Bow to Dignity
American Journal Of Nursing, September 2005
I entered my three-month rotation at Seton Psychiatric Institute through a leafy drive, a pastel tunnel of old trees and flowering shrubs. I was nineteen years old and eager to leave behind my dark and creaky nurses' residence in downtown Baltimore. So Seton was a welcome escape, with its sloping lawn and the distant, treeless hill where the home for elderly nuns gleamed.
Even the "chronic ward"--as it was calledi n 1966--had a wholesome, scrubbed charm, not unlike a nursery suite tucked under the eaves of a Victorian mansion. On the top floor of the hospital, it was a low-ceilinged space, checkered by light from a row of dormer windows.
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