Air

The damselfly cannot hover without it,
the humpback whale can’t spout.

And from the moment, small and blue,
we’re catapulted from womb to world

our lungs make a pact with it to nourish us
whether we’re awake or asleep.

We need it to cross a room, a continent,
to see beyond our selves.

And yet we only think of it if, trapped
in a lift cage, an alarm rings in the heart

or if a sudden wave raises us
to the crest of terror in a rowing boat.

And isn’t the fear of dying the fear
of failing in the struggle to breathe it in?

So why do we rush round the world
smirching it with plumes from chemicals?

If only we could scrub it with the sea’s salt
or hoard it like gold in banks. If only

we lifted our voices every morning
and sang as we inhaled and exhaled air.
 

Subscribe to Quadrant magazine here…