By Christina Gessler
In the quiet
I breathe, breathe,
my feet on the cushion below me,
the carpet below that
atop the flooring of this building
resting
above
dirt
and tree roots
that dig down into the center of the earth.
Those roots hold it all together?
So the dirt stays,
so the building resting upon the
dirt
bound by the roots
stays still,
holding this room
with its carpet
cushion
my feet
and legs
and the rest of me?
When all is gone
and all that’s left
is the breath that breathes me, whispering:
You are here
another breath
emerges
to take the place
of the one
before.
Dr. Christina Gessler has written poetry since high school, attended college on a writing scholarship, and holds a Ph.D. in American history.