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.