Breathing I

The loss became a part of her,
like an arm or a leg, she buried it
so far in that it couldn't be seen,
a hidden appendage, burning.

But she felt it when she breathed 
in and out, out and in,
like a shortness, like something missing,
like the pain of a missing limb, 
a pain so far in 
it never went away, 
never stayed fully hidden.

And one day it fought back, 
made to regurgitate itself and grow, 
tasting sour enough on the tongue
to stop her breathing.

So she denied it air for many years 
but it didn't make a difference,
it stuck there like a hidden fear,
a living force 
that spoke too much, was too fierce.

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