Listening For Air

You lower your head,
stare at your hands,
wait for me as if I held a magic wand
that would dissolve the grey cloud
hovering too near. But I don’t
wave a wand or say
anything
as the anonymous traffic rumbles by…
along the busy street on the other side
of the wall. The ceiling
light fingers your hair, descends
the angles of your face, is trapped
in the ellipses that rain from your
heart.
I don’t say anything & you don’t say
anything. The cloud turns, wanders
toward the horizon the way a gunslinger
abandons his victim in the center of the street.
You raise your head, shake your hair,
sigh-smile.
I hear a little girl gasping for air
after holding her breath for too long
inside the dark body
of a lake,
how grateful she is
to breathe again.
-Erie Chapman

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