by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I wanted to gather you
up in my arms,
like a mother
gathers her young,
and bring you back
to New Mexico—
a place you once loved.
I wanted to take
you away
from the suffocating people
in that room
so I could listen,
alone,
to your ragged
breathing.
A gift
in the night.
© copyright 2011 White Ermine Across Her Shoulders
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