Vicariousness
In the throes
Of a brutal run
I try to imagine
My grandparents’ lungs
Are inside my chest,
Grandma’s on the right,
Grandpa’s on the left.
With four lungs where
Before there were two,
I make it up the hill.
Meanwhile,
Sick with Covid
In a nursing home
Outside Cleveland,
They’ve borrowed my lungs,
My grandma my right,
My grandpa my left.
With one good lung
Where before there were
A pair struggling
To clear phlegm,
They make it
Through the night.
Breathing for one
Another like this,
We can’t run
Out of breath.