Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Janette Hoppe #12 Breathe

these lungs can no longer hold
the sharpness of a scream

they shape around poems
deflate, inflate
collapse

punctured
these lungs struggle to breathe
the slight whistle
of escaping air

a reminder of the rib
that fractured it -
a reminder of the vows we made

'til death do us part'...

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