And he has been dead so many years
I barely recognize him
But for him I could fake that heart
Into beating a few more times
Of compressions
I’d breathe for him
Press my lips into his
Even though it is against protocol
Ribs give under weight
I fall through
Thirty one shitty Thirty two beautiful
Reunited minutes I lose count
In the chaos of the body
I barely knew him anyway
In the ambulance
My hands consent
To skin becoming cold
Arms practice pushing away
At the hospital
They cannot separate us
So I apologize for the violence
Of not letting go
Ibe Liebenberg is a citizen of the Chickasaw Nation living in Northern California. His debut poetry book, Birds at Night, won the Sowell Emerging Writers Prize and is due out in March.
