.

Propped on pillows, eyes

closed, cannula askew,

the machine indifferently

draws and whirs oxygen

puffs, and you breathe

as you can.

I settle down beside,

place palm on your

thigh, the machine draws

and whirs.  I close

my eyes, your hand covers

mine.  I imagine the distance

between breath and breath,

aerobic galaxies drawn

and released, saturated-

unsaturated cells coursing

your heart and mind, casting

us days and hours in

moments.  You drift off to

draws and whirs, your hand on

mine.  Let’s believe this

is enough.

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Copyright 2018 Juniper White

Juniper White is a mom, writer, teaching artist, and letterpress printer who cultivates handwork in Northwest communities.

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