Breathing Method

[This Little Lady]

Tied at length to a eight year old room

How far to let you slip out under the door?

Halfway through a dark hall I was a woman

and halfway from the door to the wall

I was thrasing

All logic untying from fingers to fear

To dissolve me in its appetite.

What a waste I feel to be afraid

To be afraid of hospitals,

cold sterile plastic breathing in my mouth.

To be afraid of a pyjamas itch at my skin.

Dying in an urgent race

the pant and heave of chest

awaits a hollow breathe

Once again a child

frantic gasping clentches the walls

and drags them in

How they tie the first of 7 to your finger,

how sticky it becomes pressing sides together.

A braille.

All the pencils of your thoughts have scribed against you.

Here I am a woman a woman now,

and all I can do is breath.

 

 

Supposed to be a commentary on how traumatic things in a child's life can have such a great impact on fears we develop when we are older.