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)