August

I lie in bed and my heart aches. The angels in our walls have hidden and the forecast shows a break in clouds but this thun- der is unforgiving. Inches away relief scoffs in my ears with bright lights. I never noticed the trim on the ceiling; did you? Abstract vases, abstract voices, will you please release this air inside of me for one moment— quietly, softly, do not disturb relief. I will reach out and I will hold my breath and I will try my best to place my heart aside. Panic feels familiar beneath my skin, manifesting behind my eyes and should I check my pulse? As I suspected. How the need for words squirms in my throat. Are you still awake? Breathe this breath in heaven and do not let it go. Give me your hand, take it from my chest. I feel I will implode with silent sobs if this warmth does not touch me. Will you hold me? Just until I fall asleep.

— ODH