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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=575558" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Breathers</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Breathers</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Jeffrey Andrew Reiss: October 5,1969) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Ohio, where these things happen, <br>we had been loving all winter.<br>By June you looked down and saw your belly<br>was soft as fresh bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Florida, standing on the bathroom<br>scales, you were convinced<br>and looked both ways for a full minute before crossing<br>Brickell Boulevard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Colorado you waited-out summer in a mountain<br>cabin, with Dr. Spock, <br>your stamps, and my poems in the faint<br>8000-foot air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	Listen, he had a perfect body, <br>	right down to his testicles, which I counted.<br>	The morning he dropped from your womb, all rosy<br>	as an apple in season, breathing the thick<br>	fall air of Ohio, we thought good things would happen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	Believe me, Dr. Salter and the nurses were right: <br>	he was small but feisty—they said he was<br>	feisty. That afternoon in his respirator<br>	when he urinated it was something to be proud of.<br>	Cyanotic by evening, he looked like a dark rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Late that night you hear... </div><div style="margin:10px 0">	Think of the only possible twentieth-century consolations: <br>	Doris saying it might have been better this way; <br>	think of brain damage, car crashes, dead soldiers.<br>	Better seventeen hours than eighteen, twenty years<br>	of half-life in Ohio where nothing happens.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Late that night you hear them<br>in the... <br>							<br>	For, after all, we are young, traveling<br>	at full speed into the bull's eye of the atom.<br>	There's a Pepsi and hot dog stand in that bull's eye, <br>	and babies of the future dancing around us.<br>	Listen, the air is thick with our cries! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Late that night you hear them<br>in the nursery, the breathers.<br>Their tiny lungs go in and out like the air<br>bladder on an oxygen tank<br>or the rhythm of sex.<br>Asleep, your arms shoot towards that target<br>with a stretch that lifts you like a zombie, <br>wakes you to the deafening breathers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now you see them crawling<br>rings around your bed, in blankets, <br>buntings, preemies in incubators circling<br>on casters, a few with cleft palates, heart trouble, <br>all feistily breathing, crawling<br>away from your rigidly outstretched arms—<br>breathing, robbing the air.	</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Reiss">James Reiss</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=575558" data-title="The Breathers de James Reiss" data-description="The Breathers

(Jeffrey Andrew Reiss: October 5,1969) 

In Ohio, where these things happen, 
we had been loving all winter.
By June you looked down and saw your belly
was soft as fresh bread.

In Florida, standing on the bathroom
scales, you were ..."></div>
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