Tonight's Poet Corner: Lungs
Lungs by Belinda Roddie I lie in bed at night, and I am thankful for a great many things. However, I take for granted the mighty pouches of life stored behind my ribs, cycling air to make it nourishing. My blood is warmed to the melody of oxygen. I can breathe. I do not have to take my chances with a canister. I do not have to stop walking to ease the burn in my chest. I do not have to fear a chokehold, for many reasons. I am allowed to breathe. I am allowed to live. But he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. How many times did he have to gasp it to be spared? And how many times would I have had to say it before precious air returned to me, and my lungs cooperated, and the man in blue apologized? We are different, the dead and I - I get to lie in bed a...