On the Rare Mornings I Feel Too Much

On the rare mornings I feel too much, my heart slams itself against my trachea and the world nestles hard on my esophagus. It is not unlike a hummingbird flinging itself against a still, sharp, rain-washed window. On the rare mornings I feel too much, my breathing collapses upon itself, repeatedly, like someone squeezing my … Continue reading On the Rare Mornings I Feel Too Much