They say she drove an ambulance
with her petites curies in the back.
The shattered bones of a million soldiers
revealed to surgeons on the front line.
They say she missed Stockholm
and her Nobel prize because
isolating radioactive isotopes
seemed more important than pomp.
A photograph of her captures
a dishevelled face, darkening eyes
and a down turned lip.
Aplastic anemia decimating her blood.
But her golden brain created
periodic and seismic shifts.
A legacy left in hospitals
and grateful lives.
oooh – what are “petites curies”?
“pomp” is a great word to stick in after all that technical stuff – really brings us up short and gives a great taste of the person
I agree with Sarah – pomp’s a great word. And ‘golden brain created / periodic and seismic shifts’ is great too. I’m wondering if this might be a good place to end the poem? Just a thought.
petites curies were Marie Curies invention of mobile x-ray machines which were used by surgeons on the front line in the first world war. She drove some of the ambulances that housed them.