Shroud of Light
By the time they killed Refaat, there was nothing new
about the rows of bodies rolled up in stark white shrouds,
surprisingly unbesmirched by dust or blood
On Realizing There Are Too Many…
While cutting an onion I am reminded of Brueghel, / the lack of tears in his art. Mine are everywhere
Self-Portrait as Elizabeth Holmes
If I’d left Stanford early because I was sick
of teachers saying my ideas weren’t feasible;
if I’d already planned the kind of founder
I would be—black-clad, aloof yet
passionate—before I knew which field
I’d innovate
The Second Pass
The first pass along the whetting stone
creates an edge too fine to last;
the second, more blunting pass
tempers the edge into usefulness.
The Weight
How much does a hospital weigh
I’ve tried to estimate
Fluorescent tiled corridors, star-crossed
Friends arriving late
Four Guys and a Truck
The rooms were stolen by four guys who joked about everything I owned …