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	<title>Two Hawks Quarterly &#187; cancer</title>
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	<description>A Literary Uprising</description>
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		<title>Insomnia by Melanie Masters</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2009/05/13/insomnia-by-melanie-masters/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2009/05/13/insomnia-by-melanie-masters/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 14 May 2009 06:06:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>aulapress</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Creative Non-Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[effervescent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[insomnia]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[midlife crisis]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.twohawksquarterly.com/?p=2263</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[  I can’t sleep because of a word beginning with e or i. Enigmatic? Iridescent? No.

“You’re _____,” he said, reducing me to a single word and I, sleepless and dulled by wine, forget. Irresistible? I wish. Impossible.]]></description>
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		<title>Are They Real? by Virginia Silverman</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/are-they-real-by-virginia-silverman/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/are-they-real-by-virginia-silverman/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 21 Aug 2008 17:00:35 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Creative Non-Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University Literary Magazine]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University Los Angeles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cancer survivor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[double mastectomy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ginger Silverman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mastectomy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Virginia Silverman]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;Are they real, Mommy?&#8221; My daughter was staring at my bare breasts one morning last month as I got dressed for work. The incisions from my double mastectomy were quiet now, having faded to a mildly aggravated pink over the past six years since my surgeries. &#8220;Well, baby, in a way,” I answered. “Remember when I got implants under my skin after the doctors took out all the cancer. Remember my surgery a long time ago?&#8221; Eve was just 3 and a half when I was diagnosed and treated for stage 0 Ductal Carcinoma In Situ. I elected to have a double mastectomy and reconstruction so that I could achieve a complete cure. By aggressively excising the aberrant tissue, I did not have to have chemo or radiation. Basically, I had cancer for less than 7 days after being diagnosed. &#8220;I remember, Mama,” Eve said. “You couldn&#8217;t pick me up for along time.&#8221; That&#8217;s what mattered to her at the time, the loss of our physical connection while my body healed. Now that Eve is 10 years-old, the concept of &#8220;real&#8221; is critical. My daughter is navigating her way through a pre-pubescent world brimming with Hannah Montana fantasies and expectations [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Without Words by Philip C. Barragan, II</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/without-words-by-philip-c-barragan-ii/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/without-words-by-philip-c-barragan-ii/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 22 Aug 2008 07:00:01 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Creative Non-Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University Literary Magazine]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University Los Angeles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[barragan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Carlos Barragan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Carmen Barragan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[creative nonfiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Grandma Bear]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Grandpa Bear]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Martha Barragan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mission Hills]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Philip Barragan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[San Fernando]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[San Fernando Valley]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Barragan's]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Gents]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Without Words]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[            The sound of our footsteps echoed through the hall. Dozens of faces too ill to smile stared at us as we tried not to look into their rooms. Hushed conversations mingled with the odors of Lysol, bleach and fresh flowers. We arrived at our destination.  My mother asked for my handkerchief to dry her eyes. I reached out and held her hand like I did when I was child. We slowly entered his room and pulled the curtain around his bed pretending the other patient couldn’t hear us. The whispering oxygen machine and the heart monitor filled the background. My mother and I each took one of his hands. We asked him to squeeze if he could hear our voices. With all of his strength, he tightened his grip as tears began to flow down his cheeks. My father wouldn’t open his eyes for the rest of the afternoon.             He had spent a year recovering from surgery to remove the cancer from his throat. Inspecting old buildings for the City of Los Angeles exposed him to high levels of asbestos. He had to learn to speak all over again. I remember helping him walk while he was in [...]]]></description>
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