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
We're different, we who've had cancer. We can't saunter through life, unaware. We confront our mortality early, and often. Death wakes us in the night, lodges between us and our partner in bed, wriggles into the hugs we give our children. And yet, we can linger in the rich, moist earth planting a cherry tree without knowing if we'll ever feast on its flawless fruit, savoring the sight of ugly bald coot chicks prospecting for bugs in their first swim, resplendent red beaks and yellow fringe of down stark against the mama coot's drab austerity. Bald, red and yellow stark against the murkiness.
Excerpts from "Stark" originally appeared in A Healing Journey by Sharon Bray.
While writing poetry in Vasona Park in Los Gatos, California, Marcia was struck by the brilliant plumage of the baby coots swimming at her feet, in sharp contrast to their mother's dark feathers. It seemed to her an apt symbol for the valor of cancer patients finding joy in the face of a difficult prognosis.
Content Copyright © 2006-2018, SurvivorsReview.org | Feedback | Site Design & Code Copyright © AlmadenWeb 2006 |
Privacy Policy and Disclaimer |