Guest Author
Aliki Barnstone - Poet, Translator, Critic, Editor, English Professor
Take a Deep Breath
Of course, you are afraid to
breathe—of what
enters you if you inhale fully—smoke
seeps from the car beside you. When you
stop
for red you slyly observe the couple
breathes
together. Cigarettes punctuate their speech,
their bodies slouched against the gray
interior.
The cars idling ahead of you exhale
too much. The sun is filtered by
exhaust,
exhausting you. You think of what is next
to do and squeeze the steering wheel
and hold
your breath, aghast you can’t help that
you find
the gasses lovely, belly-dancing there,
beckoning and winking and wriggling
on asphalt between puffing, lustful
cars
that sit expectant on their fat asses,
drunk
on our velocity, oh holy god--
what if you felt your body and what if
you took a breath, the living form of
it
inside you, and you felt the ghosts of
cars
inside you, too, the giant neon guitar
outside the Hard Rock Café on the corner
of Paradise twanging amid your ribs,
and all the splendor of inanimate
objects left you just as they entered you.
What if the couple enclosed in the
car
were no longer ugly to you and all
the oxygen coursing in our blood
made you love them for an instant, made
them
perhaps glance over at you, perhaps not.
The light changes to green, adorned
with halos
of toxins. You look down at your
splayed legs,
admire them, too. A pity you’re impelled
to take a breath, step gentle on the
gas.
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