There are times you need simply
to feel air.
The air does not ask
if it’s done enough in its life.
It just stirs,
or not; is what you’ve got,
this amplitude of air that sets
such an example–
making you think
about the too many who strove
for whatever air was there–some
until you take that them
right into both arms.
Though most hollowed
to cheek and collar-bone, some were swollen
by their disease–yet, they seem to fit–
and you sit them
over your chest, trying to absorb
their collective will for breath,
becoming very still–
not exactly happier–but
quiet–for your chest must be still
to hold so many–
Some you have no right to hold
though they let you,
the dead so generous,
the dead willing
to sit with you.
Draftish sort of poem for Real Toads Open Platform. Pic is mine from the San Jeronimo church in Tlacochahuaya, Oaxaca.Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, Uncategorized comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.