- Gerry Sasse
Don't Breathe
Don’t Breathe
As my father tossed my blanket
over me in my bottom bunk
in the middle of the night
discarded as an empty can on the highway
I felt like a hollering creek of
repressed rage
ready to implode.
Giggling “Daddy, Daddy”
earlier as he lifted my pajamas
contradicted my held breath
pretending I wasn’t there
until he left the room
to return to safety
in my fragile orb.
—Gerry Sasse