By Jennifer Johnson
bolt
down the steps and out the window of tolerance
into spongy green ground covered in dewy moss:
a good place to land, or you thought it was
a safe space to land, you didn’t know a black hole existed beneath–
not the slowly sinking wet dirt, oh no
honey, you were grand-slammed into that ditch
sticky sludge
layered lady fingers of betrayal
smashed together
nervously
soaked
melt those eyes shut and
let it go.
Jennifer Johnson is a writer and nurse based in San Diego, California. She writes about memory, intimacy, trauma, and the surreal absurdity of being a person. This marks her first publication. She can be found on Instagram at @jennay.j.