She asks if Asthma is the name
of a goddess. Its etymology is dull
unless you’re Anastasia, Greek
resurrection— ana, up and sta,
stand firm, my remote student
who checks boxes on the Oakland
waterfront, the world’s fifth busiest
port, inhaler in hand for quality
control. Eighteen wheelers stall
in coiling lines, unload diesel
particulates too small to see
into her lungs, her blood.
It comes from ázein,
I say, breathe hard.