Weary

You can imagine the pressure on my chest

Encompassing my lungs

 

My ears dipped in and out of muddy lake water

 

Some moments I heard the trees

And others the muffled breathing of fish

Like the Devil’s hands cupping my ears

 

I could look up —

And sink back

 

And see the spotted, white sky

Pushing the leaves

Moving the birds

And the sounds would be simple

But foreign.

 

—

 

2 am

We were sitting in a terminal waiting for a flight

My head leaned against her shoulder

Her arm across my back

My thoughts dimming into sleep

 

I could feel her voice through her sweater

As she discussed Coq Au Vin with an elderly woman in the next row

The words were muffled

But the hum was still there