By Kristin Secaur, NICU Nurse at Akron Children’s Hospital


Your sultry sneakiness slithers in
while I busy myself seeking a louder life.
You dampen the sound
like tinny music through cheap speakers.
I go to brush you away, but my hand passes through you,
ethereal fog.
You cling to me, like moisture on my glasses,
fogging my view of the world.
I see all my days through you.
Tell me how you infiltrate,
infecting me like a virus clogging my joy,
chilling my clarity.
Tell me how you suck the light from all my spaces.
You rob me, even as you claim to keep me safe.
I have no tools to pry you loose.
How does one evict the air?