Jane Doe

who are you,

you with the Medusa tattoo,

found down on an obscure city street,

now lying here,

sleeping in sedation, veiled by machines,

who are you?

your young face holds secrets

your old body is worn but silent

through a chorus of beeping and whirring,

we scramble to solve the mystery of you

we’re not giving up on you

did you ever know love?

or was your life only shaped by the sharp edge of hardship?

how did you end up here

in this room, nameless and unclaimed?

who are you?

it's not looking good –

your BP drops, the heart slows,

we watch, helpless as death starts to whisper,

still, we're not giving up on you.

we're here,

holding vigil for this life unraveling,

because no one deserves to die alone.

in the end, it doesn’t matter who you were—

only that you were here,

and so were we.

Amanda Kern is a Baltimore-based social worker who supports patients through trauma, chronic illness, and end-of-life experiences. Her poetry draws from the profound moments shared with patients and explores themes of resilience, grief, and healing.