draught

how come sometimes, when I'm feeling tired, when it's a grey and rainy sunday afternoon far from the world, removed somehow from every busy friend-- how does it happen that holding my breath helps? just like it helps for the hiccups-- the only thing that does, face-down into a pillow. and when I'm tired like this, it seems there's an empty cobwebby spot down at the bottom of my lungs that needs to be filled, a dim pocket that ordinary breathing won't reach-- a part of me that's been neglected, oxygen-deprived-- and then I need to flood it and hold it in until I feel the silent beat that tells me to let go. and I'm better, for now. afternoons like this I need my flannel and the yellow lamplight and this purring cat. as well as deep, concentrated gulps of air.