Air

It hurts to breathe.

Memories crowd 'round,

Precious and terrible both.

I can't tell them to leave me;

They are all that is left.

I gasp for air, sobbing breath.

Like her, but I go on. And on, and on.

Living, but not living, aching with want.

I died that day. I know it doesn't look like it.

Future. Hope. Confidence. Innocence. Gone.

How do I get those things back? Am I able?

Hope: is it something that can regenerate?

Confidence: is it something I can mend?

Innocence: is it possible to restore?

I long to cradle new life, but

My womb is a tomb.

It hurts to breathe.