Asthma
when I breathe in cold, clarifying air
and it transforms into visible breath
I remember the nights when my tiny throat
got even smaller, and my mother taught me to breathe
I remember little snatches of time
and what it’s like to have a runny nose
while wearing an oxygen mask
I think of the darkened hospital hallway, and
my small, sensitive eyes fixated on the green light of an exit sign, and
the cold wet Sunday morning and the smooth plastic of a new toy, and
a soothed soul, returning from the land of the dead
© Jess Umbra, 2024
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