Status asthmaticus

Mom said you wheezed all your life, sweet and low,

and that morning was like any other:

Lucky Charms at 7:00 —

Except when you coughed it up,

milky brown wads glazed in pink and green,

a chewed-up rainbow and half a pot of gold

Then slid to the ground, silent and slow,

as if accepting surrender,

your head resting on marble tile

While Grandma keened

Sam, Sam, Sam

like it was the only word she knew

As your lungs replied with gasps,

chest with rubbery heaves,

your heart thud to a pause

And started again

but your mind had quieted

no longer playing To Pimp a Butterfly on repeat

Now the ventilator hums in C,

your mouth agape in a hollow note

singing your final song.