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Fluffy pink unicorns dance on rainbows

while long-lashed dogs wear flowers like fur.

Soft green Yoda-lights sway overhead,

framing my second-story window

where moonlight spills onto the bed,

silver-casting quiet shadows.


I drift,

carried across a calm sea of sleep.


At dawn, I wake in a brighter room—

its sharp light hums like a secret.

A blue shark swims

across a storm-tossed whiteboard

before the bed floats gently down

a river of tile.


Magic doors open, a deep breath,

and then—nothing.

Quieter than dreams,

deeper than memory.


When I surface again,

the curtains sway, soft as whispers,

their patterns slip through the mind-haze.

Family waits, voices steady, smiling

as I slowly return to my body.


A kind nurse guides me to the chair.

Its wheels sing toward the elevator,

to the car,

and then,


Home.


Whole again,

though I never truly fell apart.


Stargazing Cat on a Beach at Midnight


Phoebe Allison, age 11, and her father, Nick, wrote "Magic Doors" as a chain poem, creating it line by line to tell the story of three rooms: her bedroom the night before her surgery, the pre-op room, and the recovery room afterward. The poem reflects their shared journey through uncertainty and resilience, capturing their bond and their hope to bring light to others navigating challenging moments. They live in Austin, Texas, where they enjoy creating art together.  Another of their collaborative pieces, "Mad Dark Winter Sky," can be found on Nick’s poetry site, https://thetruthabouttigers.com/2024/02/03/mad-dark-winter-sky/.


Survivor girls are young or old

But have a single common goal

To live each day with zeal.

 

They have a tumor big or small

And join the ranks of spirits all

Who fight for life and feel

A bond with other women.

 

They share the struggle,

Feel the pain,

As one by one they do regain

A sense of strength.

 

Tears of joy, tears of sorrow

Bond them in the female marrow

Of survivor flesh and bones.

 

Through sunny days and weary nights

They strive to never lose the sight

Of their heady quest for life. 


Ann Favreau is a retired educator who lives in Venice, FL.  She is a member of the Florida Writers Association, Florida State Poets Association and President of the Suncoast Writers Guild in Englewood.  She has self-published six books.  Her newest poetry collection The Dementia Spiral (2024) received a semi-finalist award from the Florida Writers Association Royal Palm Literary Awards.  Ann makes presentations to local women's groups and loves sharing her work with others.

I know how difficult it is to stand by

And watch your loved one suffer.

Though the negatives seem front and center,

Don’t enter into it.  Find the positives instead.

Dwell on the good, leave dread unsaid.

 

Find a bit of joy each day.

Perhaps it’s a smile, a joke, a song, 

A peek at nature, a taste of candy,

While keeping that tissue handy

When you need to be alone.

 

Years ago I tread cancer’s path.

Now I’m walking the dementia lane. 

Step by step, hand in hand,

Knowing that I need to stand 

With comfort and love for Ray,

Just as you are doing with Bill. 

 

Katie, you and I have found a way,

The strength to trek through every day.

Mapping the jagged journey,

Setting the course with our hearts,

A caregiving voyage of love.


Ann Favreau is a retired educator who lives in Venice, FL.  She is a member of the Florida Writers Association, Florida State Poets Association and President of the Suncoast Writers Guild in Englewood.  She has self-published six books.  Her newest poetry collection The Dementia Spiral (2024) received a semi-finalist award from the Florida Writers Association Royal Palm Literary Awards.  Ann makes presentations to local women's groups and loves sharing her work with others.

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