Breathe. The air is cool and fresh coming across Sunset Lake at dusk.
Breathe. Fresh bread is baking in the oven, there's butternut squash soup on the stove, and you've just come in from a cold February day.
Breathe. Mom just made it home from work on Christmas Eve, 1982, in the blizzard that paralyzed Denver for a week.
Breathe. There's Jane, finally, and she does indeed have 10 fingers and 10 toes and a powerful set of lungs.
Breathe. All the grading is done, the grades are turned in, the classroom is clean, and it's summer vacation.
Breathe. That was the best performance of the season, and it happened at finals for the state marching band competition.
Breathe. The dissertation. Is. Done.
Breathe. The moving truck just pulled away, empty. All of our stuff is finally in the new house.
Breathe. You got past the boulder field on Long's Peak before the lightning started.
Breathe. Jane found her homework. It wasn't lost, just deep in her backpack.
Breathe. Her fever broke.
Breathe. Dad is fine. The side air bags kept him safe.
Breathe. Hug Paul.
Breathe.
I made a "breathe" poem too but mine was sort of "breathe, something horrible is happening and you need a moment." I really like how you turned this moments of relief and happiness, or what's about to become happiness anyway. The lines "Breathe. The air is cool and fresh coming across Sunset Lake at dusk." and "Breathe. Fresh bread is baking in the oven, there's butternut squash soup on the stove, and you've just come in from a cold February day." However do not follow that pattern of relief and I was wondering if you wanted to have that transition from just simple happiness to stressful situations with a happy ending. It's just something to think about I suppose.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jake. Interesting that you read those lines as different from the others. I suppose that they are. But they are moments of relief for me, just of a different sort. I'll need to think about how I want everything to relate...
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