Breathe

a picture of the poem, written on a typewriter

Breathe
I cannot see, it is only black
Breathe, eyes closed.
I cannot see, it is only black
Breathe. Open your eyes
Can you see now?
O cannot see, only blackness.
Wait, now I see bright light
and everything is blurry.
Breathe
Back to just seeing black.
I cannot see, breathe.
Breathe.

At breakfast

a picture of the poem, written on. typerwriter.

White plate, 2-egg omelet
Leftover potatoes from dinner
Half of an avocado.
Morning conversation
Brief yet pleasant, hopeful
Sometimes just informational.
The morning light shields us
from the alerts and notifications
that await, that lurk
on devices in other rooms.