"Poor guy," I said, regarding
his crusty nostrils, and
she said he's doing much
better today, he slept a lot--
but when I heard him coughing
late in our darkened house
my mind became a slave
to how sometimes children die
in the night, for no good reason!;
and like a spy I slipped away
with grim urgency, determination,
only once betrayed by a creaking
step while creeping to his door
and listened to his breathing,
head inclined, un-moving until
several minutes in I realized
my heart was pounding
like a marathon, like war,
like shooters in the street
see the child in my arms.
jan 2017
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