Breathing
Sometimes in the car I forget to breathe,
almost. Respiration reduces to
tiny transactions reluctant to leave
any trace. Warm skin and car seat a new
union, matter overcoming mind,
the windscreen a cornea to see through,
the heartbeat of wipers. I am confined
until a sickening jolt of preservation,
a shriek of tyres. Less than seconds defined
by red lights focussed, the dislocation
of time, and a density of fears
like a stone, but with the termination
of burnt rubber on tarmac, it appears
there are only white lines stretching on for years.
Ilse Pedler has had poems published previously in Poetry News, Prole, 14, Poetry Salzburg Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears and The North among others. She has also had poems in 2 anthologies. She works as a Veterinary Surgeon in Saffron Walden.