May 17, 2009

Breath by Matt Rader

Posted in poetry tagged , at 3:00 am by placeinthestars

by Matt Rader

From alveoli, bronchi, trachea—
speech cousin, gravity descendent,
as all things are eventually.

Tide plan. Moon thought.

The breather born in a split second
switch from water breath and uterine lung,
to lift, draw, expand, rush—

oxygen bloom in blood.

Breathing, we share ourselves.
Forced-air pant, helixed with dog hair and rat skin,
adenine, cytosine, thymine, from a vent
above our bed, we breathe the house-
genome, the long line
come cycle of life in the air,
translated to blood by lung,
then rivered through vein and capillary
to be used, and become use,
           addendum. In the morning
the room’s rank. Breathing,
send me back.

Refrigerator buzz. Mice-step
in walls. Sleep-talk.
Sound-as-breath, inference
only a breather could understand.
The crust swell of apple pie
pulled hot from the oven.
Blitzkreig of a popped balloon across the kitchen.
Sunset. Moonrise. Eclipse.

The gown of air sewn by fingers
as a rock lifts from the garden,
the drag
          and ribbon,
all arc and arm, trailing from hip to head,
shunting dry saliva-breath in a huff,
from lung to mouth to wrist to palm to tip of




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