The Art of Respiration
When the call came the car was on empty,
I was late, stopping for gas and
no one in front of me moving fast
enough. The cashier looked at
my scrubs, my badge as I shoved
money toward her, trying to hurry and
go. She said, my boyfriend died, died
right in front of me and I told him
I loved him. Do you think he heard?
Yes, I said, and slowed down, told her
what I know and
it was a little like breathing,
me giving her this true thing and she needing it,
taking it in like air.
Carolyn Scarbrough has published in Gulf Coast, Poet Lore, Sundog, Tar River Poetry, Conduit, Connecticut River Review, High Desert Journal, Minnesota Review, and The Southeast Review. She has an MFA from the Bennington College Writing Seminars, works as a pediatric ICU nurse, and is the mom to five kids, two dogs and the cat. Basically, she says, she writes despite all the reasons to not write, much like a willful child!