Sometimes, my inhales sound like the names of everyone who has saved my life.
The integrated chain of oxygen inward and co2 out isn’t broken because someone stepped in when I tried to split it in half—
When I wanted to make my body a strand of co2,
they grabbed on to my body before it became air.
Days I never have to do again forcefed me oxygen
because I wanted breath less than anything else.
Breath, a previous curse.
Breath, a neglected caretaker.
Breath, alchemy.
Breath, the thank you that sounds like all of your names even without letters.
Marisa McGrath 