We physicians have never had a clearly defined mission. That mattered less when expectations were lower and we could do less. Now though, the reigning paradigm is grounded in basic science, excessively confident, inpatient-centric, and broadly focused on treatment of symptoms and signs, on diagnosis and therapy. The development of a new medical paradigm seems…
Author: Porridge Magazine
The Piano Man – Frances Green
That night that the piano man and I first slept together was the night we discovered the pleasure of talking aloud about murder.
ONE POEM – Denisa Vítová
I spilled pinot noir on the bed sheet
and said I was a virgin.
In Time I Find Strength, in Time I Get Caught in the Memories of Food – Hamnah Khan
In Time I Find Strength, in Time I Get Caught in the Memories of Food There had been a time when I had been told that if I had to go through the most important events in my life I would remember only a mere hour of them, all of them painfully squished against each…
ONE POEM – Lucy Holme
Unlike a jellyfish, she has a brain but doubts her instinct for survival.
swoop siren, dive under.
ART: ALL IS ONE – Camila Curiel
We are bound to nature, worms and dirt, we come from earth, and to earth we will return.
ONE POEM – David Linklater
The train leans through
the Highland line, Inverness
to Fearn, wheat either side.
This carriage bows for you.
TranSItion – Seigar
“Ignorance produces hate, knowing is the best way to tackle ignorance, and empathy is the only path to love.”
TWO POEMS – Al McClimens
‘She named the major constellations
while I gawked at them and reached out to touch.’
COMFORT FOODS // TWO POEMS – Daniele Nunziata
I’ve tried planting potatoes since you left,
but they never grow the way they did for you.
Failing to Eat a Local Delicacy – Michael O’Mahony
Lorighittas are a type of pasta made in one small village, Morgongiori, on a side of a mountain on the east of Sardinia. Only the women of this village, and only some of them, know how to make lorighittas. A lorighitta is effectively a woven pasta made from a dough of semolina and water. Each…
ONE POEM – Bronwen Wilson
I imagine turning into
a flamingo, likes the ones
on my onesie that I’m dying
to wear.
Porridge 