Chest cold
It is cold. My chest feels iceberg-ed.
My lungs, freezer-burned.
This infection is wrecking, wracking.
You know the sound of a fingernail
on comb teeth? That’s the sound
in my throat when I breathe. Air
flickering. Yes, I’ve seen the doc.
I’ve swallowed the meds, sucked
the meds, slept and slept and
now the cold is in the words. At
least I can still send you love.
Infection free. You’re welcome.
Thank you for all your bright messages about my book launch and new cover! Woot! I appreciate it! And…if you’re free this Sunday…come write poetry with us! Only a few spots left! Register today!
VANESSA SHIELDS 