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April 2014, vol 10, no 1

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Francis Masat


In the chemo center, colored ribbons hang in a row under "We Will Survive." As old-timers grab blankets against the AC, I hear “He looks better bald,” but said with deep warmth amidst the angst of dread. Stretched out with my IV, it beeps and I notice once more a rainbow in its drip. Seeking a future path, I find myself amidst the crags and plains of the past. The haze of time passes, though, and I hear a newbie ask if our overnight IV bags come in colors. Our nurse says, “No, but colors might be a good.” And I think, “A change of course can happen here.”

after a bad storm ─
an unknown bird takes flight
on a fresh wind