MEMORY IN ACROPHOBIA

by on July 20, 2020 :: 0 comments

(Notes from mid-air,
Bir, Himachal Pradesh)

The world at fifteen-hundred-
-plus feet above
sea level is

the shivering underbelly
of a birdling thrown
roughly into air.

At this height, dangling midair,
with the sun poking
at the pupils,

body freezing up
in revolt, something gross
rising in the oesophagus,

comfort of land
many unrealistic airkicks away,
physics changes.

Air becomes water, its waves
pulling at your atoms
in all directions; sky

turns into gravity, sucking
you away from home.
Home is an incomprehensible

dot in a maze of green;
and you, you’re a frozen brain,
cold clay body,

nerves of rust,
fervently praying
for a miracle.

– Nikita Parik

editors note:

Acro or Baso; it’s not the height or the fall, but the impact that’s a bitch. – mh clay

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