unknowing, perhaps,
and yet you danced,
upon my shallow grave,
ignoring my ragged sighs,
though fair warning to you,
i was nowhere near dead.

my sighs were his sighs,
as he expended breath,
so i see then your confusion,
nausea giving way to knowing,
but still you clogged on,
in an effort to suffocate me.

forgive me, please,
i still cry out loud,
i was not dead yet!!! --
--my rage is ongoing,
asking the hard question,
why am *i* forgiving anyone?

because his sighs are mine,
chest expanding on chest,
and i know this was never
meant to be a crushing blow,
but a prompt to rebreathe,
a reminder that i survived.




---Anger as soon as fed is dead-
'Tis starving makes it fat. --Emily Dickinson