Ode to life’s small pleasures

My body is convinced that some pollen native to Missouri is actually a treacherous threat and

Thus, it would be better for me to not be able to breathe

At all

I am sitting in front of the air filter silently counting “in –1 2 3 4 pause – out 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8”

having been unable to take a proper breath for several hours now.

My beau perceives the crisis

Stands behind me, hands on my shoulders,

Working tender confidence into my back

He spends 30 minutes

Trying to teach my lungs

The air is safe

Reminding me

My shoulders

don’t need to carry it all


Published by kris gebhard

Kris (pronouns they/them) is a clinical psychologist, poet, percussionist, and gardener currently residing in Chicago, IL.

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