Stacia O’Connell
Just to make it through the night,
I dreamed of sitting
at your bedside,
holding your hand
while you slept, the
beep of monitors and hushed footsteps
a soundtrack.
Just to fend off the darkness
and fear,
I imaged you as a child,
blissful and brimming with
hope, a time
before bad news knocked you over
like one of your toy trucks,
a time when your superheroes would
always
come to the rescue.
Just to slow the ache,
I banished the cities and
towns that separate us;
we shared memories, movies,
and food framed in salt
and sand, and crystal waves.
Just to be able to take
another breath,
I created a future where
your breaths were no longer
a supplication;
where the ocean in your
chest does not require
an ark to navigate your voyage for oxygen and
your heartbeats
are no longer a warning gauge.
And just for a few precious moments,
you are once again
my infant son,
lying on my chest,
and we are both getting our second chance
at breathing.
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