Janet Ruth
Everything about walking
icy roads after snow at 5˚ F
requires care—even breathing.
Pulling neck-wrap across face,
I remind myself to breathe in
through nose in tiny sips,
help warm the brittle air
drawn through nose and sinuses
into my lungs. Pushed back out
through mouth, the heated lung-air
fogs up my glasses.
Inspiration—the drawing in of breath,
expiration—the act of breathing out,
more words for breathing.
Where sun strikes snow in this dry, icy air,
steam rises—sublimation—
the snow is breathing.
When my mother expired, passed
from corporeal to spirit, the universe
took another breath, inspired
as she slipped into the sublime.
Grandmother cottonwood stands
beside me on the acequia path.
We are both holding our breath.
She has lost her leaves, their stomata,
through which she breathes.
She is teaching me another way of breathing—
breath without oxygen.
In this icy bitterness,
just enough inspiration
to get us through.
Janet Ruth is a New Mexico ornithologist and poet. Her writing focuses on connections to the natural world. Her book Feathered Dreams was a 2018 NM/AZ Book Awards finalist.