Note: This poem is quite…unpolished, mainly because much of my energy this week had been devoted to my #StrangeLit submission (I’m trying to be better at fiction, y’all). So apologies for that. But at least the image is pretty? Hope you like it, nevertheless.
The art of aerialism:
You have to concede
to the spider silk
twining through your limbs as
you hang above applause,
as you wait for consumption.
You have to concede.
There is a peculiar sort of grace
in this tangled stasis.
There is a hush, breathless,
quivering, as you still yourself
and exhale.