“Hold your breath,” the computerized voice says. A whir, then: “Breathe.”
They saw it first on the x-ray, the little dot now an invading force. “Hold your breath.” Pause. “Breathe.”
It colonized one lung, lymph nodes, spleen. “Hold your breath. Breathe.”
This is what it must feel like to be Iraq, she imagines. “Hold your breath.” Her bones ache with cellular Abu Gharibs and Basras. How much has fallen?
“Hold your breath.”