I read the NY Times on-line today, and the news is so depressing, I have nothing to report. It is dismal. I offer this poem instead which offers a suggestion, and which, in some ways, I realize we are always doing, breathing in the breath of those we love. Breathe easily today, and deeply, too, and tread softly on the news.
FIRST BREATH LAST BREATH
When a baby boy is born
and the midwife
holds him up
as he takes
his first breath,
Place him over
the mother's face
so when the baby exhales
his first breath on Earth
the mother breathes it.
And when the mother dies
her middle-aged son
the baby grew up to be,
by her side
his head next to her head,
Follows her breathing with his breath
as it becomes shorter
and as the dying mother
exhales her last breath
her son inhales it.
Antler
Denver Quarterly
Volume 40, Number 1
2005
