POETRY

TINY LUNGS
(2017)

Following three nights
of weakened young lungs
releasing bronchial cries,
you left Loved by Mum.
Your boot fell uneven
off the lax foot it hung,
and as you were leaving,
the other loss sung:

“Granddaughter, your passing
reminds me of another,
who, thickened lungs collapsing,
ignored his pleading lover
to take refuge, post-flames,
in nicotine
lighting and a solemn face
that soured the pre-war teen.”

While his worn-in pair
inhaled until ill and blackened,
yours released a youthful air,
a timid winter chill,
then slackened.