Epistles Poem by Heather FlowersForhan

Turned
like a fist
closed to the fingers,
I waited and watched
with increasing anxiety
on the examination table.

It seems
that my dis-ease has returned
like a habit
broken long ago
by the threat of ill health.

The door opened
to the white coat PHD
who was sought out
to translate my x-rays.

'Well....'
he began, and I knew right then,
could see the grimness of the news
through his professional demeanor.