Bio
Dr. Murphy received his BA and MA in Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins, where he was poetry editor of the Charles Street Review, and his MD at UCLA, where he was editor of Plexus. He subsequently trained in medicine and infectious diseases at the University of Wisconsin, CDC, and University of Texas Southwestern Medical School. Late in life, he has returned to writing poetry after a career in academic and clinical medicine. He remains clinical professor of medicine at University of Nevada, Reno, School of Medicine. His poetry has appeared in Visions International and Gemini Magazine and fiction in The Brussels Review. He lives in the rain-shadow of the Sierras, with his wife Rachael, surrounded by spruce, aspens, pines, quail & jays, bobcats, foxes and bears. On Sunday night, a bear limped across the patio, consuming strawberries left for rabbits, reminiscent of the bear and strawberry tree in Madrid’s Puerto del Sol.
Trigger Warning
Is that God knocking at our door?
As he comes in a fog,
He could just as well slide in under the door.
Like Bunche Schweig, all he wants
is some hot coffee and a crumpet slathered in butter.
And now he leaves the chair all wet.
Oh God, just like a man.
Is that God knocking at our door?
What does she want now?
That I should take out the trash
and pay better attention.
Remind me that I bought the
unnecessary jam and forgot the eggs.
We need God to remind us.
Is that God knocking at our door?
What does it want now?
The book I failed to return to the library?
The words I should have spoken, but didn’t?
Of thanks or condolence or congratulation?
What of words I didn’t speak and shouldn’t have?
Thoughts speak louder to the inner beast.
Is that God knocking at my door?
What do they want now?
So many do’s and don’ts
So many trees on the mountain
Yet not enough snow to cover them
and none by May.
Let the fog slide in under the door.
We could use the wetness.