Breathless

Her last breath, so soft on me
My gasps into the parentless air
Clouds moved, grass grew as
I shrunk smaller than a tack
and hid under one leg of that
old rattan sofa in the center
of our North Hollywood living room

His last breath, harder on me
A hurricane into my mouth
Machines beeped, masks on
I had nowhere to hide this time
because there was nowhere
else to go except inside myself
and weep from my stomach

My breath continues strong,
refreshed by a long walk
and propelled by the thrill
of parenting while parentless
because you can have one
without the other, and it’s
all I ever wanted to have

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© Jonathan Greene, September 1, 2026