Grandmother said, Raise your arms!

Still, the pain seized the girl, her ribcage spasming. She dropped to the parquet floor, a cat on all fours writhing inside an invisible vice.

Then: release.

She heaved, young lungs refreshing, involuntary tears like raindrops to parquet.

Grandmother shrugged. Just a touch of pleurisy.

Tamara Sellman is a widely published poet and writer who works as a sleep health educator, healthcare writer, and MS advocate/columnist when she’s not crafting creative work.