A child got injured and a child got 
sick. Children in caesurae. There 

was waiting and then there was 
moving. I sat in a hospital room
 
and seethed, sat on a white bed 
while you slept in a plastic bin or 

you slept on concrete. I read murder 
mysteries because I couldn’t bring 

myself to fling real stories into the 
future. You hadn’t been sleeping 

on concrete but you had pneumonia, 
or you didn’t. On the facemask box 

I expected air but instead the first 
suggestion was infant care. I was 

afraid for breath. I was afraid to 
bring my face to your face.