Did you hold me or did I hold you?
The breath pauses and gasps again.
I hold the fluttering of your heart,
my hand firm as listening intensifies.
Will I hear your spirit escape this realm for another?
Make a home for us there, I whisper.
There are many rooms - paint one of them blue.
One lung - or one and a bit...
Breath that once shouted at players and refs.
Two laps for that. Walk away.
Pass the ball.
Breath used for forming teams and communities.
Moments and eternities pass between breaths.
Snooze and you lose!
Sleepy train rides merging postcard views with wonder and dreams.
Breathing in time to flamenco guitar.
Friends cherishing and easing your breaths,
Turning you, massaging, touch of love and healing.
Not the kind of healing that pulls you back,
rather, the gifts of going...
pieces to place in your backpack
until you float as a feather on the breath of God.
What is God’s breath like?
Does it appear as the wind from the south?
Don’t they call that the widow maker?
Does it fan flames and leave destruction?
Does it make the sky turn black and the sun to blush to vermillion...
like the fire trucks it watches with indifference?
Breathe
The triple breath and pause. Repeat.
Is almost instructional in its rhythm.
This is how you do it.
You make an instructional video,
burning it into my memory, so,
when sobs and gasps violently shove me into that pattern -
I remember.
Just.
Breathe.
(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for visiting, I look forward to hearing from you.
When making a comment, please remember this is a site frequented by young people and those who may not be up with your jargon.