mist / by Siobhán Cronin

She made a sound with her mouth
    like a horse
    or an engine throttling

I heard her through the partition serving as a wall
    through the nondescript office
    past the window
    out into the winter air where she stood with her mother, gearing up for a race. 

I lay there holding impossibly still
while coaching my throat, anxiously holding a cough in its tubular arms like a bomb

"Maybe warm it up into a new composition?," I offered. "Something you can absorb?"

Hearing it spoken aloud in my inner language inspired me to give it a try myself.

As the little girl peeled a triumphant "VRRrroooomm", 
the mother laughed,

and I dissolved into mist.