And the winner is..... April 14, 2012 100th anniv of the sinking of the Titanic: Poem: The Titanic

Linda Barrett, second prize winner for her short story "Love Among the Fireflies" from Montgomery County Community College in Blue Bell, PA. $75.

Ruth Deming, the Belle of Cowbell Road, for her short story "Love Under the Willow Tree." $50.

First-prize winner is Gunter David ($100) for one of his stories about his childhood in Germany when he and his family finally escaped Hitler's Germany.

Gunter, an acquaintance of mine, was a reporter for the Philadelphia Bulletin newspaper. When the paper folded he became a psychotherapist under the then famous psychiatrist Nagy.

Friday night, after I saw Bill Clinton, I went to bed, settled myself under my white down comforter, felt the good feel of the sheets on my body and then started worrying about my diabetes.

At the Norman Cotterell talk yesterday, I said to the group:

I decided to talk to myself about my diabetes. I'm sick of worrying about it. So I said, I accept that I have diabetes and that it's not gonna go away. I'm doing everything possible to help myself. I eat well and I exercise.

The rest is in the hands of Fate.

TITANIC

In the dark theatre where I sat wedged between a man and his wife, both invisible but felt,
and a teenage boy and girl scooping popcorn from a bag,

I began to worry about things to come.

I fled to the lobby to search my soul.

Would it be cowardly to pay my money and leave without anything?

In desperation I examined each glass-enclosed case filled to flowing with candyand merry, bright-colored drinks.

I opened my mouth to speak to the girl but no words would come out.

Empty-handed I returned to my seat.

There were fourteen theatres crouched side by side.

I re-entered the dark tomb from whence I came.

Crawled over the woman's legs, then the man's, feeling first her lightness,
then the boniness of the man, even as he retreated from my touch.

I wondered, when taking my seat, alone, unprotected by a husband or even an acquaintance,
if it might be possible when the waters began rushing in and the people were swept from the places they clung to,

if I might, ever so gently, lay my hand on the arm of the man next to me,
a gentle touch, invisible almost, to comfort me
when the icy waters swept us under.