a brief meditation on breath
by Yesenia Montilla

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i have diver’s lungs from holding my 
breath for so long. i promise you
i am not trying to break a record 
sometimes i just forget to 
exhale. my shoulders held tightly
near my neck, i am a ball of tense
living, a tumbleweed with steel-toed 
boots. i can’t remember the last time
i felt light as dandelion. i can’t remember 
the last time i took the sweetness in 
& my diaphragm expanded into song. 
they tell me breathing is everything, 
meaning if i breathe right i can live to be
ancient. i’ll grow a soft furry tail or be 
telekinetic something powerful enough 
to heal the world. i swear i thought 
the last time i’d think of death with breath 
was that balmy day in july when the cops 
became a raging fire & sucked the breath 
out of Garner; but yesterday i walked 
38 blocks to my father’s house with a mask
over my nose & mouth, the sweat dripping
off my chin only to get caught in fabric & pool up 
like rain. & i inhaled small spurts of me, little 
particles of my dna. i took into body my own self 
& thought i’d die from so much exposure
to my own bereavement—they’re saying
this virus takes your breath away, not
like a mother’s love or like a good kiss
from your lover’s soft mouth but like the police
it can kill you fast or slow; dealer’s choice.
a pallbearer carrying your body without a casket. 
they say it’s so contagious it could be quite 
breathtaking. so persistent it might as well
be breathing		 down your neck— 

"a brief meditation on breath" by Yesenia Montilla. Used by permission of the poet.