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Denise R. Weuve
Denise R. Weuve is a Pushcart Prize nominee whose work has most recently appeared in Bop Dead City, Genre, San Pedro River Review, and South Coast Poetry Journal. September will see her first collection of poems published, The Truck Driver’s Daughter, (ELJ Publications). Currently she lives in Long Beach, California, is a MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte, and forces high school students to learn British Literature and love Creative Writing Monday – Friday. Feel free to friend her on FB and visit her website Deniserweuve.com
The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Denise R. Weuve and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
In a Museum
When losing your lover
Richard Widerkehr (Bellingham, Washington) won two Hopwood first prizes for poetry at the University of Michigan and received his M.A. from Columbia University, which he attended on a Woodrow Wilson Fellowship. Two book-length collections of his poems were published in 2011: The Way Home (Plain View Press) and Her Story of Fire (Egress Studio Press). Tarragon Books published his novel, Sedimental Journey, about a geologist. He won first prize for a short story at the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference and several awards for poems published in The Bridge. His work has appeared in Passages North, Chariton Review, and is forthcoming in Rattle.
The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Richard Widerkehr and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Pulling the Stopper
What my doctor didn’t tell me was the day after surgery, when the opiates were starting to wear off, some other man in a white coat would waltz into my hospital room at six a.m., turn on the fluorescent lights, and ask, “How are we doing?” With a confident smile, he warned me, “This is gonna hurt, but it’s got to happen.”With one pull, lickety-split, like a weight lifter doing a clean jerk, he plucked a bulb out of my side, as if ripping a blood-soaked stopper from a tub. Apparently, a bladder or balloon had been inserted in the left side of my abdomen to soak up blood. Yesterday, I’d been swimming under anesthesia, and I felt joy when I woke and saw Linda’s face. Now, so I could see what happened, a stranger tore some second heart out of my side, just to show me my first one could go on beating.