Atelectasis

Atelectasis

You have two lungs, but

when one collapses the other

cannot be pulled open. 

Your alveoli understand solidarity—

even as your cells, your diaphragm,

plead. For you to give

way, just an inch, just a breath.

The breadth, though, of one

collapsed lung, is two. We must

fold into each other even

as we refuse to fold.

Vincent Pruis

Vincent Pruis is an outdoorsy poet-person who writes, speaks, and consistently loses at weekly trivia in zir hometown of Ellensburg, Washington.

https://pruispoetry.art
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A Rapid Embrace

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“Byron at the End of Poetry”