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Writer’s Choice

What I want the surgeon to know

What I want the surgeon to know is not included in the pre-op interview, where my life of pain has been reduced to color-by-number shades: a lavender 4 to get out of bed, an orange 7…

You Never Know, and More…

Stepping out of autumn-chilled water, sun still warming my bare skin, I glance back at the lake wondering, will this be my last swim of the season?

The Identified Patient

What brings you here? I ask. My name badge tugs at my thin floral blouse asking me the same question. My name has sorrow…

Here At Home

When my grandmother died, my mother reported that her last words were: “Is that all?” Although I was not present at her death, I doubted this.

Compendium

apprehension caused by awareness that a crucial detail has been left out | fear of putting into words things felt intuitively | fear that …

An Accident

It was an accident, he didn’t mean to, I forced him, I provoked, I should have kept my distance, should have shut up when told…

Danny’s Song

The pale-blue sky stretches to the horizon, broken up here and there by tendrils of white scudding along like wispy phantoms.

Preemie

My daughter, now eighteen, is vibrant and healthy. Julia Rose has wild curly blonde hair that frames her face like a lion’s mane.

A Kind of Poetry in It

Each day he packs. Takes pictures off the walls, adds the dish that held his morning toast. The crumbs too. One slipper goes into his bag. One stays under the bed.