Fingersnaps Or “Trying to Draw my Breath”
She knows that
one fingersnap
equals 65 moments
and that an
exhalation
of her breath
can be measured
and drawn until
all these moments
finally steal her
last breath
of
Life Away
and it will happen
so
quickly
She knows that
the time between
the bold dashes
and the thin dashes
is non-existent
when her son is
playing guitar,
or her daughter
is giving her
a history lesson,
or her dearest love
has her in
his arms
but those same
bold and not
dashes
are like symbols of
roadblocks
in the seconds
when
her son calls
and says
"I love you,
Mom",
and her heart
drops
down corridors
that
rocket fear
like she
has never known
through her
and still she knows
that she can feel
all this
throughout her
shock
because this
she feels, feels
so so so
so so much.
And so she
beat the time
tricked the clock
And so now,
She stares at her
green sheet
crossword puzzle
while she tells her husband
truths and lies
turned into truths
and her daughter
tries to defy
time
and she sighs, finally,
cracks the
door
open
to audible
Life
inside
and her heart
races
with panicky
relief
and she can sleep
again
for one more
night
that she knows her
son
will still be alive
by his own
hands.
And she vows that
Tomorrow
she will
WAKE UP
OPEN HER EYES
and begin once again,
to match the rhythm of her
heart
to the snapping of her fingers...