The Breathing Room

Woke up this morning,
Confused and coffeeless.
Sun snuck into
My room through the cracks
In the blinds and broke
Into yolk yellow rays
On the wooden floor.

The taste in my mouth
Was unusual.
I realized
The air was spring, and we
Breathe the sky,
In deep blue gasps
Until it snaps our lungs open
Like balloons. Without thinking
I put on my shoes, bit my lip,
And walked for miles
Down the shoreline.

Didn’t stop until
The sun was behind me
Sinking to sleep fast
Beneath the dull
Red edged horizon.

And I sat over the end
Of a lonely pier
Dangling my feet
Overlooking the sea
Wishing more of me
Was made of water
Or air.

And I thought,
If I exhaled long enough
Eventually my lungs would
Parachute themselves
Out my mouth, begging for a drop
Of wind.
And it finally happened
But I wasn’t awake to see it.

And when my eyes opened
The sky was made
Of dark blue bricks,
Waiting to crush us,
And the clouds were low
Enough to reach up and peel
From their permanent positions.

And although my arms
Were not as long as I thought them
I tried anyway.
I fell short and into a cough
Of sorts, throwing me backwards.

Breathing is funny, the way it just happens
Without our consent.

On the edge of that lake I stood, for what I am not certain,
But I imagined that I would have perhaps
Been better as a soft-shelled creature,
Scuttling and shuffling about the sand,
Under the surface of blue and green.

Sitting in the sand is the cheapest form of therapy,
Drawing circles around my feet
With a carefree hand.
I realized that there were other shells on the shore,
You just have to sift through the sand for a while
Until you find a good one.