Poems from Iceland

thud. thud. thud.
feather pillows at the bottom of my lungs-
relentless and deceptively heavy.

it’s my own fault – I put them there
thinking to have something soft to land on
when I finally retreated into myself
and now here I am
mid-way through Limbo
pillow-fighting my past just to breathe.

but dust in my eyelashes or lungs won’t stop me.
I am…