Chris Lesher

By Brittany Beasley

When I think about it, I lose my breath.
I feel like the weight of the world is crushing my chest into my spine.
My tears flow freely like a faucet on full force.
I try to find the words, but all that comes out is the silent screams of an ugly cry.
The breathless scream you feel in the depth of your soul.
The grip is so tight all I can do is lie in the floor while my tears dampen the carpet beneath my face.
My stomach turns into a hard knot with overwhelming disgust.
All I want to do is make everything better, but I am powerless.
It is strange in moments like this you realize how helpless you are and how delicate life is.
We never truly know the meaning of, “…the days are long, but the years are short…” until we are met with the finality of time.
Time waits for no one, slows for no one, and stops for no one.
Although at this moment, it feels as if time stands still, and the world stops turning. However, time is ticking…
Ticking on just as the world is still rotating while I lay here breathless in this sorrow.
How can it be that time is both infinite and finite?
What a quandary of the universe.
It seems as if we have all the time in the world until it all comes crashing down.
Then we wonder where time went.
As if time can come and go.
But time is constant, always there, always ticking, ticking away.
Everyone wishes they’d acted differently if they had known time was slipping away.
Time is fleeting.
In the end time spares no one.

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Brittany Beasley, Ph.D., RN, CNE, is a Clinical Assistant Professor in the College of Nursing at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, where she teaches both undergraduate and graduate students. Her research focuses on telehealth in acute care and nursing education innovation. With over 20 years of experience in acute care, intensive care, geriatrics, telemedicine, research, and nursing education, Dr. Beasley is a Certified Nurse Educator. She mentors BSN honors students, coordinates acute care clinical experiences, and has designed and taught a graduate-level telehealth course. Actively engaged in faculty governance, she chairs various college and university committees, serves on the Academic Senate, and is the President of the Gamma Xi at-Large Chapter of Sigma Nursing.

By Taylor Tucker

a Lion sleeps
so others may know peace

a dark night ends
the glow of Mourning begins

a new dawn and new day
but the memories, they stay

as she closes her eyes
the ones she holds dear will rise

the Lion sleeps
now others
know peace

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Taylor Tucker, M.D., is a Resident Physician at UAMS.

By Evan Hicks

Skin—simple, yet complex.
Pigment—oh, why the rage?
Did we forget, or did we never learn
From the mistakes we made in 2023?
My pigment is the rage,
Melanocytes hidden beneath the surface.
Oh, why the rage?
A sin that spares no nation,
Doing no favors,
Across the Americas, North, and South Asia.
Is this life fair?
What did we do?
Is the melanin all to blame?
Oh, why the shame?
Am I to blame for the faults of the past?
Was 1964’s fight a mistake—Or was 2008’s hope misplaced?
Here lies the shame, hidden in my skin,
Dripping down my face.
Here lies my rage, bathing the keratinocytes,
Leeching to the surface.
They can no longer hide,
Exposed beneath your eyes.
Did the benefits outweigh the pain?
Was my acceptance the cost of shame?
Did the surface get too hot—
Were you burned by my protection?
My pigmented exterior, always a controversy,
Always a little inferior.
Pardon my rage.
Excuse my shame.
Am I to blame?
Melanin is my name.

---

Evan Hicks is a fourth year M.D./MBA candidate at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences. He earned his undergraduate degrees in Biology, Chemistry, and Physics from the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. His academic and research interests focus on dermatology, particularly skin of color and skin cancer in rural communities. He is passionate about bridging gaps in healthcare and improving dermatologic care and awareness in underserved populations. Outside of his professional and academic pursuits, he enjoys spending his free time hiking with his wife, Jocelyn, and their dog, Kylo.

By Jacqueline Coleman-Fried

I expect he’ll come home
from the hospital—thin,

but still barrel-chested.
I’ll nurse him.

Buy boxes of Ensure.
Paper underwear.

Put out blue towels, flower
sheets on our queen bed.

Tisch, 17 West,
Room 15—

There are two stiff mattresses
close enough to kiss.

And through a large, clear window—
the black, black night.

Under a head light, I see
my husband’s lips
quiver when he snores.
Step close enough

to stroke his forehead, his neck.
To whisper words.

Will he hear?

This sterile hospital room
is our bedroom, where shared

sleep and darkness
are intimate as sex.

Morning. Still breathing.
I take the train home.

A hushed phone call
before sun the next day.

He’s hard as marble, soon
to be ash.

I wash the floral sheets, return
the blue towels to the closet.

Weeks later, I etch the night—
to fix it, to hold it.

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Jacqueline Coleman-Fried is a poet who lives in Tuckahoe, New York. Her work has appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal, Nixes Mate, Streetlight Magazine, New Verse News and Consequence.

By Jonathan Aibel

The hole in my chest,
better than a daily pierce,

my three-headed dock
for tubes. Hard to distinguish

medicine from venom. Spins
sometimes, the hospital,

nurses interrupt dreams,
the bed squeals in alarm

if I try to get up
on my own. I’m doing well,

they say. I never know
from minute to shivering

minute. Waiting on me
to emerge, fight the cells

circulating my seas, restore
to something I recognize, me.

---

Jonathan B. Aibel is a recovering software engineer who lives in Concord, Massachusetts, traditional homelands of the Nipmuc. His poems have been published in Barrelhouse, Chautauqua, Pangyrus, Lily Poetry Review, Cider Press Review, and elsewhere. Jonathan’s chapbook Echoes of Uruk was a semi-finalist for the Tupelo Press 2024 Snowbound Prize. http://www.jbaibelpoet.com.

By Kristen Alexander

The toxic one once told me he avoids me at all costs.
“I wouldn’t be at lunch with you if it wasn’t for our boss.”
Just weeks after I met him, he stormed out and slammed his door,
refused to talk it out and said that ‘fluff’s’ not what he’s for.
Said he’d do things how I’d asked, called it malicious compliance.
I never saw a day he lacked that kind of veiled defiance.
In meetings, if I questioned him, his face turned pink with rage.
Our leaders called me paranoid, likely blamed it on my age.
The team (except the leaders) all agreed he was a problem,
but no one had the guts to speak – it wasn’t their job to solve them.
With him, I always felt unsafe, so guarded and defenseless.
I’ve never had a colleague seem so angry and defensive.
The leaders will reward these men for their toxic behavior,
But when a woman acts with strength, they rarely show her favor.
He fed on praise and accolades, the leaders on him doted.
He sopped it up like bread with broth, and then he got promoted.

---

Kristen is an Arkansas native who has worked at UAMS for almost eight years. She earned her bachelor’s in English literature from the University of Central Arkansas and her dual master’s in public health and public service from the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences and the Clinton School of Public Service. Her typical artistic medium is textiles, such as quilts, knitting, and fabric collage. She competes in the annual SOMArdi Gras beard competition, and has been featured in “Art from the Heart”, the UAMS art show, for her homemade beards. Her 2025 beard took the “Best in Show” prize – the first time a woman won the entire contest! Kristen also sings, plays ukulele, and volunteers as a docent at the Arkansas Museum of Fine Arts.

By Duane Anderson

They asked him if he was feeling okay
after having just donated a unit of blood,
being concerned with his well being
knowing that some bodies act differently
with a change of bodily fluids, especially
with the recent loss of a pint of blood.

He said that he thought so,
and then they went into their good cop,
bad cop routine with him,
responding that they would
soon know if he was lying
if his face began to turn pale,

or if he passed out on the donation bed.
It seemed you either felt fine, or you didn’t,
there wasn’t any in-between,
and their concern wasn’t meant to be
part of a guessing game with questions like
who’s on first, or what’s the meaning of life?

In the end, everything turned out well,
another happy ending,
walking out of the room without any assistance
into the lighted hallway to go back to his office,
later riding off into the sunset
as he went home that evening.

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Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, Nebraska. He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk, The Blood Drives: One Pint Down, Conquer the Mountains, and Family Portraits.

By Courteney Ragan

It’s always with me,
A forever companion forged by circumstances not within my control.
Like a rash that lessens in intensity but never fully goes away.
Or a forgotten bruise that hums with pain at the slightest touch.

In my sleep, like an intruder who steals a peaceful night’s rest and erases memories of joy in an instant,
Only to awake with the sinking, aching, devastation that none of it was real.
In the grocery store, like a soft breeze carrying the scent of her
lemon perfume—
Only to realize, again, it’s worn by a stranger, not her.
In the car, like an echo that replays whispers of her laugh
Only to be met with an empty, dark passenger seat.

Life before my companion was light.
Days never felt too long or like my feet were perpetually stuck in thick, brown mud.
Until years were forever changed in seconds,
And, like rushing water, it poured in, covering and transforming everything in its path.

Grief is my companion.
It is in these everyday occurrences of my life that it has interwoven itself and stands tallest.
Just as I grab my bag before leaving the house in the morning, it grabs me and carries me throughout the day.
A powerful reminder of a life that is no more.

---

Courteney Ragan is an instructor in the Writing Center as part of the Educational and Student Success Center at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences. Before joining UAMS in 2024, she worked as an English teacher for 11 years. She has a Master of Education degree from the University of Arkansas at Little Rock and enjoys reading literature of all genres. She currently resides in Maumelle, Arkansas, and enjoys spending time with family and friends.

By Sabrina Leonard

Too busy to think and too strong to cry
Life must keep going, no time to think about why

Despite opposition, failure, and pain
Find a reason to sing, even in the rain

Storms may come and we may get wet
But sunshine is next, to help you forget

The dark times, the cold nights, all of the sorrow
Just keep moving forward and be optimistic about tomorrow

Be steadfast and unmovable, there’s always a way out
Keep the faith, hold on to hope, and let go of doubt

You have to keep going to persevere my friend
No matter how long it takes, you win in the end.

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Sabrina Leonard is a PA student at UAMS. Poetry has been a personal outlet for her, helping her navigate her own struggles with depression and anxiety while fueling my passion to continue my academic journey. She hopes this poem offers encouragement or strength to others who read it.

By Hira Zafar

In the world of “fear of missing out “
I see faces missing out on life
I see eyes filled with emptiness
I see minds constantly at war
I see hearts about to burst

In the world of “to be honest”
I see lies dripping from the mouths
I see betrayal hinted in the shouts
I see prejudice
I see racial privilege

In the world of “you only live once”
I see people dying of neglect
I see people dying of hunger
I see people dying of sniper shot,
Bombing, drone attack, detonating pager

In the world of “one of my followers”
I see the tiny ones with non-accidental trauma
I see the frail with elder abuse
I see hate crimes
I see intolerance for any and every opinion

In the world of “profile picture”
I see the struggle of weight loss
I see the efforts of weight gain
I see beauty behind the scars
I see the ugliness behind the charm

In the world of “the perfect”
I see the broken
I see the imperfect
I see the shaken
I see you

In my world where no one else sees you,
I see your misery
I see your heartbreak
I see your eyes brimming with desire
I see your ire
I wish they could see it too
I wish they could feel it too
I wish for unconditional love
I wish for a utopian world

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Hira Zafar is an adult neurology resident at UAMS. She loves traveling and experiencing diverse cultures with her six-year-old, learning new recipes, and advocating for patients with neurological disorders.