Patrick's Poem

Two inhalers,
one plastic plate
with Care Bears on it,
I return
24 negative images,
grins, kisses,
music,
crammed in a bubble mailer.
The little boy who could not breathe,
I return,
the little boy who fell.
You taught yourself to breathe
without me,
Eat, See, Hear.
Can you feel?
Bear it.
Notes unfold,
fly out
and descend.
I hope you walk,
stand tall.
Maybe dance?

I dare you to try flying.

I could not breathe
for you,
nor fly.
Bound. Tangled.
Now I breathe freely,
and I have flown
without you.
So your childhood returns.
It was never mine.
These ghosts go their way
on wings.
This is the last knot.
I allow each string to fall,
untied.
Relieved,
my image changes.