Deborah Bayer

A is for AWA

In October of 2016, I went to the Examined Life Conference in Iowa City. It fit me perfectly, a writing conference sponsored by a medical school. The keynote speaker was Dr. Rita Charon, whom I would later study with at Columbia. The conference changed my life, mostly because of someone I met there. I elected […]

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feather with colorful squirts stuck into an inkwell

2023 Theme Reveal

On April 1, 2023, I begin the A-to-Z Challenge for bloggers. It’s my second time in this challenge. The first time was in 2020, just as the pandemic lockdown began. My theme for 2020 was “Steppingstones to Transformation.” I picked a theme for 2023 without checking to see what my previous theme had been. Apparently,

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rows of red tulips

Fertilizer: A Sonnet

Fertilizer: A Sonnet She plows the furrows, pushes past her wants. Can she imagine rows and columns, summed on spreadsheets as the basis for her work? Or, does she dig down to her ballet class, dance to Tchaikovsky all in lacy-white tulle stitched with plastic violets for the waltz? She isn’t graceful, but she moves

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Crying baby being held by his mother

Poem About White Noise

  About This Poem: This poem first appeared in Juked in May 2021. The inspiration for this poem was two-fold. Part of it came from a freewrite about the white noise machines installed at my clinic. The other part came from a comment by the pediatrician in our clinic. Children in all four of his

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green leaves outside a four-paned window

In Situ – Time and Nature

  In Situ Even before I open my eyes, the light in them is orange, as red buds give way to masses of pollen and pale new leaves. The changing foliage makes a filter for sunlight through the glass: amber, pale green, then emerald.  This tree and I have traveled a score of journeys together;

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White Coat Lies

  White Coat Lies Rain in November deepens depression, worsens all joint pain. On a scale of one to ten it’s an eight. The waiting room is full of dripping umbrellas. I walk to the front desk. The waiting woman sees me.  Even my stethoscope disguise, my averted gaze won’t deter her. She asks for

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