<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<rss version="2.0">
	<channel>
		<title>Hannah Wilcox | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/Hannah17</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Hannah Wilcox</description>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>1776022579</lastBuildDate>
		<generator>WritersCafe.org RSS Generator</generator>
		<ttl>15</ttl>
		<item>
			<title>Life</title>
			<description>Ihave to remember the eggs, eggs and the bread. The thin bread I like for sandwiches.Oh, also, I need more orzo; I finished that little bit that was left last week.Franklin thought as he got out of his car, stopping to pull the leaver toopen the trunk. I can&amp;rsquo;t forget there-usable bag..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145271/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Bleeding Heart</title>
			<description>Peoplelie. It is something we all do. We lie with good intentions, cruel intentionsand everything in between. We lie to protect those we love from the harsh slapof reality, and we lie to protect ourselves from reality. People lie to eachother; she lied to me.Ithink somewhere deep down ..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145268/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Train Room</title>
			<description>As I walk down the stairs so familiar to me, my innards coil around andaround into tight springs. My lungs cry out as if I have denied them air forfar too long. I grab at the loose railing&amp;hellip; a reminder that he is gone&amp;hellip; in orderto wrestle down the feeling of dread eating at my insi..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145266/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Untitled</title>
			<description>As I round the corner I let my mindwander&amp;hellip; hospitals are far too white,white walls, white coats, white sheets, white and sickly people. They ought tochange the color, maybe a dark blue, or grey. The red wouldn&amp;rsquo;t contrast asbrightly on a darker color .The paper and the charts nee..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145263/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>A Disease</title>
			<description>You forget your keys,to feed the cat, to close the garage door. They tell you it is Alzheimer&amp;rsquo;s.You forget thoseimportant dates, the set phone calls. People start to worry about your health;you are in your later life. The forgotten outnumber the remembered. They tellyou it is Alzhe..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145262/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Flowers</title>
			<description>This is not a self experience piece</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145254/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Blind</title>
			<description>I reach out and pause, my fingers hovering tentatively fromwhat I assume is just centimeters above her face. I reach up and gingerly wrapped my hands around his extendedwrist, pulling his arm until his fingers lightly graze my check.My nerves jumped in surprise, the warmth from her s..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145252/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Little Angel</title>
			<description>&amp;nbsp;It was one of thosedays, so dark and glum out it seemed as if the sun had forgotten the earth. Thestreets were quiet and deserted. Heaters working overtime to repel theunnatural chill from houses. Darkened skies threatened to break open andrelease the tears of the lord. All the..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Hannah17/1145249/</link>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>