The Trick

I make the bed.
I wash the cup.
I fold the shirt
still damp from air.

I do not cry.
I do not smile.
I am not trying
but I’m still here.

The air is thick
but I let it in.
One breath.
Then one more.
Then one more.

That’s the trick, they say.
Not healing.
Not hoping.
Just staying.

I do not dance.
I do not bleed.
I do not dream
because dreams bruise worse
when you wake.

I keep the lights on.
I do what I should.
I nod in the right places
and don’t say
help.

My body is a hallway
no one walks through.
My voice is a record
no one plays.

But I breathe.

I breathe
like it’s the only act left
that still belongs to me.

And maybe
that’s enough.
Maybe
that’s everything.