Flu Season

Winter is ruthless

for loss. My friend,

breathless, sick

three weeks now

in a city I’ve never

been back to,

fights for breath,

oxygen strapped

to her face like

someone’s home

repair project.

She sent me

a picture looking

brave. Fragile.

But she doesn’t

text, no calls.

So I wait. I hope

she fights, that

the battle is less

bloody than appears

from here, that

this year winter

leaves empty handed.