November 7th Poems

I taste the sweet tang of metal
as I breathe for the first time
in four years
flecks of rust dislodge from
an abandoned wind pipe
as the mechanism of my lungs
slowly begins to churn
my chest reverberates with the
start-stop clanking of
metal gears coming to life-
a new source of energy
fuels this movement
Emily calls it “the thing with feathers”
A turbine called hope