b a r b a r a  f l e t c h e r: other poems


Choked

Breath comes with effort.
Completely conscious of each rush of air
inward-sucked and outward-blown.
Concentration on the strained
contraction of each muscle
as breath struggles in, rests briefly
and crawls back up a tired throat
weary of forcing air through
congested caverns.
A desert of dust chokes
the gateway to lungs, to life.
And I am tired of breathing.