It Is My Breathe

In any room,
it does not matter which colors are used or
which carpet is laid,
in any room where teeth grind together,
or heavy hands grow into tree stumps,
I lose my breath.

It is not just any breath, either.
It is the breath that keeps me,
that prays for me
during moments that the stone ships sail in,

it is the breath that I hold
when dog-faced warriors
chop off my family’s heads,

it is the breath I caught when
unwanted hands disturbed my
tranquil femininity,

and it is in any room painted any color,
where deep red blows flushed faces into tight lips
and she,
or he,
pound voices of hammer,
roaring chunks of stew
into my tiny chest,
I do not know if it is I, or if

my breath loses me.

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “It Is My Breathe

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s