Poem of the Week!

Here's the second one from our October Poet, Mario Petruccio.

BREATHING‹(Chernobyl, 1986)

They had to teach me‹
from scratch. Teach me

        to breathe. As though
‹        I had fallen out of space or

up from water and breath
‹was labour - each breath

        a pang to draw me back
‹        from the brink. In. Out. In

this world life is indifferent.
‹You must will it in. Will it

        out. I look at my son -‹
        those white cheeks that

tight frown and‹
I wonder how I can

        breathe. He says - Mama
‹        when you go to sleep to-

night please don't forget to
‹breathe. Please. He is

        not allowed to run. Or
‹        jump. Like that boy who

hanged himself with a
‹belt. I watch him. And he

        watches me - when I doze
‹        on the red sofa he rests a

hand to check the rise and
‹fall of my chest. Tells me he

        will teach me in his dreams -‹
        will teach me to breathe if

I teach him how to fly. If
‹you go with Grandpa he

        says - will you be able to
‹        breathe? He says this and

his cheeks run wet and
‹he runs short of breath so

        we sit once again to
‹        teach each other how -

deep and slow. We are
‹flying     I tell him. We are

        breathing    he replies.

Mario Petrucci
(From Heavy Water)