Debra Whelan's Writings
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Poem
Apr.24.2010
To avert a hemorrhage. January 20, 1999.
Snaking my hand up the cord
following
like a life rope
the slippery cord until I
reach the placenta, globular and adherent in the fundus
following the membranes around and around.
Trying to get a grip
While the blood pools around my wrist
saturating the sleeve of my gown.
Acreta.
Page overhead. Call any ob in house...
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Poem
Apr.24.2010
To avert a hemorrhage. January 20, 1999.
Snaking my hand up the cord
following
like a life rope
the slippery cord until I
reach the placenta, globular and adherent in the fundus
following the membranes around and around.
Trying to get a grip
While the blood pools around my wrist
saturating the sleeve of my gown.
Acreta.
Page overhead. Call any ob in...
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Poem
Mar.12.2010
Ancient burial site
Within the excavated
grave of the elaborate and heavily
tattooed, high priestess in the culture with no gold were the following items
A spotted pony upon which she lay.
A hunting dog curled at her feet.
A crown of semiprecious stones adorned her head.
A mantle of eagle feathers rested upon her shoulders.
A thong amulet nestled against her...
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Column
Jan.22.2010
facebook
Here is what I think.
At the dawn of human language in the time of limited food resources, secrets were important for survival. (I hope it doesn’t come to that for the world again, but consider Haiti right now.) Of course I am not so foolish as to not believe, AS TO NOT BELIEVE, secrets remain important today, otherwise we would not have corporate secrets...
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Poem
Jan.04.2010
No one reported a naked woman
dripping from her shower, hair curling in her eyes, running
through the streets
holding onto a magic stopper.
After all this is a liberal arts college town.
Former home of the state's mental hospital
with magic stoppers everywhere.
Nothing new or out of the ordinary.
She ran uphill through the streets in the cold rain.
Brrr....
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Article
Aug.14.2009
Red Room
WHERE I WAS WHEN I LEFT OFF, ONLY BLONDER Chapter One “I become an adult.” It really started when I held him close to my breast. We were in the recovery room. I looked into that serious little face, into those impossibly bluer than blue eyes, whose expression clearly said “What the hell just happened here?” That is when I entered adulthood. Not when I had my...
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Poem
Jun.18.2009
Pressing the foliage back,
I slip the first ripe cherry tomato from its vine.
I roll it over between my fingers,
appreciate the slight give of it
sensuous, organic, smooth, unblemished skin.
Almost forgetting why I began these lines to you
whose chemistry excites the hopeful imagination of so many women
younger, more beautiful than I
my eyes are full of...
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Short Story
Apr.21.2009
“While Camden’s Arbor Slept”
Fever woke Kahlil on the tenth day. He rolled over, planted his feet on the floor, stood slowly, and staggered to the shower. Once there he inspected his body for lesions. There were none. Drying himself before the mirror, he turned his thin well-muscled frame from side to side examining the skin along his flanks. He closed his...
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Short Story
Apr.02.2009
“Dinner and Dancing”
Marco arrived early and signaled the bartender. The bartender knew him. LuLu’s was a favorite venue of Mark’s. Make a reservation for dinner and a date with a chic he met on chemistry.com or anyone of a half-dozen other dating sites, size her up earlier, will she won’t she, if she will, will I want to do it with her, maybe take her dancing...
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Short Story
Apr.02.2009
“Dinner and Dancing”
Marco arrived early and signaled the bartender. The bartender knew him. LuLu’s was a favorite venue of Mark’s. Make a reservation for dinner and a date with a chic he met on chemistry.com or anyone of a half-dozen other dating sites, size her up earlier, will she won’t she, if she will, will I want to do it with her, maybe take her dancing...
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About Debra
I am a certified nurse midwife with over 30 years experience delivering health care to women and infants. I am a master gardener. I am a birder. I am a walker. I love to dance. I love words. I have three fabulous children.
I began to write poetry in my early...