i see your body in a series of images
each one a picture of horror
a stop motion film
a nightmare where i can’t move
through fast enough
fighting through air
praying you were breathing
i count your breaths
notifying the dispatcher of each one
have you caught your trauma, your throat a catcher’s mitt
you can’t scream
you can’t breathe
i remember your carpet and comforter
my brain highlights you and everything but you
i cradle your head against my chest
ccoing like i am soothing a child
i don’t cry until you first spit anger at me
i sit on the hospital bathroom floor
and allow myself three sobs before i dry up
i have never felt so tired.
On the One Year Anniversary of Finding Your Body
