Hannah Jacqueline Gray

it’s like that moment on a swing


it’s like that moment on a swing,
reaching the highest point,
that feeling in your stomach where
you feel suspended in the stale air,
about to fall and crumple to the ground,
a body on the concrete.

that inky blackness—but something
innocuous—a sort of weight pressing against you.
or maybe it’s coming from inside you:
a blurry dread spreading from your heart,
or maybe your head,
through your hands, the hands you use
to hold everyone but yourself, the hands you use
to turn off your phone and pretend,
pretend like you didn’t see anything.

but still, it’s innocuous;
it’s suspense, ink, a blurring inside you:
you can
pretend like
it isn’t there.