Breath & Shadow
Winter 2025 - Vol. 22, Issue 1
"Chipmunk"
written by
Dawn Levitt
I wept the first time
I saw a chipmunk
In the garden in the spring.
Ten weeks confined within cement walls,
Hospital bed my home,
Peppered with needles, tubes, and hoses.
Suspended seven stories above the ground,
I lost my connection with the Earth.
My body was a foreign language.
Air – sweet, pungent, making me gasp.
The wind in the trees – deafening.
Birds chirped so loudly I laughed.
Trying to climb the steps to the garden,
I fell, unable to translate my body’s words.
Wheelchair my trusty steed.
Helped to a bench, I sat.
Flowers, birds, a river nearby,
And the striped rascal searching for crumbs.
Sunshine on my face
Brighter than surgical lamps.
For the first time, I felt I might live.
Dawn is a two-time heart transplant recipient and a freelance writer, poet, and essayist who recently completed her memoir about growing up with congenital heart disease and receiving two heart transplants. Her work has appeared in Newsweek, Insider Magazine, Remington Review, Alchemy Spoon, and Epistemic Literary.
Find out more at her website!