The rosebuds did not open this year
and you began to suspect.
The wind at your back
felt more like a push.
Balloons that filled the sky
like swollen swallows
saddened you because
it took such inhalation, such
exhalation. You decided to do
everything in and out, to copy
the breath and everything up
and down, to copy the chest.
But the cough, which catches you
by surprise each time,
gives you away and the head scarves
in your wardrobe tell your secrets.
Copyright © Lisa Marie Brodsky 2014
