Mary M. Brown

If I spoke any language other than yours, I might be able to say it whole, as a poem: non-Hodgkins lymphoma. If my ears could hear sounds apart from years of your wonder, I might delight in the diagnosis: the alliteration of poor prognosis patient . These are soft, innocuous tones-tender syllables . . . . Continue Reading »

His knowing shifted when he saw her turn”when with the cautious sliding of his eyehe caught the fatal movement . . . silent lifting. . . slight, and slow, and strangely automatedturning of that proud, familiar chintoward home.She had never thought to question.As he asked, shed fixed the . . . . Continue Reading »