by David Gruber
I lay on the table, waiting for the Ultra sound technician to come and look at my heart. It has a hole in it—somewhere on the Septum. My dad told me once, but I forget where. I remember feeling the cold Ultrasound gel spread upon my chest as the camera slides over my heart. The conductive medium tightens the bond of the skin and the transducer in the form of waves, veins, and red blood cells. I—still alive—remember seeing my heart.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.