We were writing about our experiences with Biopsies. Pat read this description of her test at Monday’s meeting:
I thought the mammogram test was bad but it is nothing compared to a breast biopsy.
You lay flat on your stomach on a hard table.
 Then they put the offending breast through this hole in the table hanging down.
 Cold hands position the breast.
 Now I know how a cow feels when a farmer tugs on its udder with his cold hands; or a milking machine with [ ... ]

                    BIOPSY
With every Biopsy, a part of me dies,
A part of my body, a part of my spirit,
Like a rock beaten down by the constant drip-drip of water,
Slowly, surely, wearing, gnawing..
Variable is the location,
Constant is the anger, the worry, the despair.
A needleful of my Prostate, a snip of my skin, a scrape of my mouth..
Death of tissue, death of psyche.
 
The bliss of benignity, or the malice of malignancy,
Which will it be?
Push the pause button on your life,
Don’t start anything new!
When, [ ... ]

Deep, deep inside us, are words, words just waiting and hoping to be released. They might not be about your Cancer, but they wait just the same.
This poem, written for last week’s meeting, dwells on a distant memory. But it reads as though it just happened.
 
 
Mom’s Heart Attack
 
My dad’s call came at night.
“No need to rush up here;
She’ll be all right.”
 
I left home with fears and hopes.
Orange and yellow woods lined the highway–
She was in the autumn of her [ ... ]

    Our latest  home prompt really brought back memories:
Were you ever in a contest or competition? What prompted you to participate? What made the experience meaningful to you? 
    In 1983 I ran the Boston Marathon.
    It all started in 1977. I was 48 years old, one year shy of the age of my father when he died of a heart attack. Frightened because he and both of his sisters all died before 50 of heart problems, I started jogging, [ ... ]

If you had the power to bring three people back to life, from a list of everyone that has ever lived on this earth,
                  1. who would they be?
                  2. how did you decide?
This was a  writing prompt at a recent WFW meeting. Selections ranged from a family dog, to late President John F Kennedy. These were my selections:
    My son John, who died of a drug overdose 20 years ago. I’d like him to have a reprieve from his one, huge mistake.
    The next [ ... ]