Laura's "Breath" begins with a strange image: a book that seems to be breathing, its chest rising and falling like a flame. The speaker lives in a grieving home where nobody else seems to breathe, and she holds her own breath too, afraid that exhaling will release her sorrow into the world. Holding it in leaves her tense and impatient, like something trapped in a cold glass flask.
The book becomes the first sign of life she has met in months, and she lets it "hold" her in a papery embrace. By the end, though, she admits she may only be pretending to hear it, just so she isn't alone. The final image is bleak: she sees herself as a teenage girl crouched on a sagging shelf, close to turning into another dusty object. The mood is quiet, lonely and heavy with grief, though the book's small comfort brings a flicker of tenderness.