Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
The wall between us is semi-permeable, merely a membrane. It would be translucent if there were light here.
We are cells, the tiniest units of her and we are alive now, revitalized. We endured the chemo while our faster growing
sisters, the ones whose genes had been hijacked, were killed. We were sad and tired, so tired. Once we were fed only push
push through the day. Today, an idea comes across the membrane, the words and music and rhythm to nourish it.
Each image makes its way across the cytoplasm, joins, integrates into our nucleus, our DNA. Poems are a part of us, an elixir for her.
Deborah Bayer is a physician who spent her early years in Brazil and now lives outside of Atlantic City, NJ. She has just celebrated the 5th anniversary of her last radiation therapy treatment. This poem was written when it dawned on her that she wasn't always going to feel exhausted.
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