—Anonymous
POEM ABOUT BREATH
—David Wagoner, b. 1926
(a memory of Elizabeth Bishop, 1950)
She was at work on a poem about breath.
She asked what punctuation might be strongest
For catching her breath, for breath catching
Halfway in her throat, between her straining breastbone
And her tongue, the bubbly catching of asthma.
She didn't care for ellipses or blank spaces.
Would a double colon work? Or Dickinson dashes?
It wouldn't be right for breath to have full stops.
It does go on, though people with trouble breathing
Think about it, and breathe, and think about it.
They think too many times of clearing the air
They have to breathe, about the air already
Down there in their lungs, not going out
On time, in time, and when it's finally gone,
Not coming back to the place longing to keep it.
Each breath turns into a problem like a breath
In a poem that won't quite fit, giving the wrong
Emphasis to a feeling or breaking the rhythm
In a clumsy way, where something much more moving
Could happen to keep that poem moving and breathing.
She said as a child she'd learned one different style
Of breathing, and her eyelids lowered and darkened.
She bowed her full, firm, pale, remarkable face,
Then solemnly lifted it and opened her mouth,
Stuck out her curled-back tongue and, while it quivered,
Unfolded it slowly, balancing near the end
A half-inch bubble of saliva, gleaming.
With her lightest breath, she puffed it, and it floated
Through late-summer light along the workroom window
All the way to the sill before it broke.
Then she bent over and over, choking with laughter.
___________________
—Medusa
For more about David Wagoner, see www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/david-wagoner/.
—Anonymous
