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JAMA. 2005;294:1592.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 126 words of the full text and any section headings.

Not to think too much
about that time because
that time is past, and yet
not to forget I almost
lost you.

One morning I abandoned you.
You were so sick! I walked
to where the street dead-ended
above a cliff, collapsed there,
cried out to the sudden sky,
Take her! Let it be over!
I lived that day without you.

Sometimes at night I stand
upon that cliff and grieve:
When I whispered in your ear,
Hold on, we’ll pull you through,
the conviction in my voice was faked.
Forgive me; I lost hope.

Then, your warm breath
on my neck, your arm
across my chest.
Crazed with gratitude,
I try to wake you up:
Fern, look! Something
I—we—did not have
has been given back.

Rick Kempa
Rock Springs, Wyo

Poetry and Medicine Section Editor: Charlene Breedlove, Associate Editor. Poems may be submitted to jamapoems@jama-archives.org.

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