Pectoriloquy |

Chief Complaint: Resting Angina FREE TO VIEW

Brenda Butka, MD
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Editor’s Note: The author writes, “Sometimes I ruminate about how little patients can actually tell us about what they are feeling—this poem is meant to pull back that curtain a bit.”

Reproduction of this article is prohibited without written permission from the American College of Chest Physicians. See online for more details.

Chest. 2015;148(1):294. doi:10.1378/chest.14-2886
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Sounds a bit like a little girl asleep,
in a hammock on a porch,
or the aurora borealis, or Chinese
peonies. Not like this:
Chest closing like an angry fist,
newspaper falling in slow whispers to the floor, as
coffee cups, the green chair, the dog
turn to darkened air, a pinpoint of light
painfully blossoming in the sudden dusk.
A dim smell, something feared,
or half-forgotten. Why would I remember?
Who would I tell?




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