CIRCLE ALL THAT APPLY:

A) in your chest— like an abandoned theatre filled with expanding air / your lungs grow to take in more breath but there is no where for the air to go / you suck in and blow out the same mouthful over and over again / you are beatrix kiddo and you have been buried alive

B) in your throat — there is a creature slithered down your larynx / it is gripping on the fleshy sides with needled-claws / you choke on your voice and continue to swallow spit / you think you remember how to preform an amateur tracheotomy should it come to that

C) in your head — the walls around you are smooth and cold / corners disappear into each other and become nothing / you realize you’re trapped in a sphere / where everything new and everything old play merry-go-round and you become dizzy from disorientation

D) in your hands— your fingers are crushed into your palm and leave claw marks through your lifeline / your skin of slime algae / your grip of skill crane / your hands shake like a pocket full of stones and you wonder if letting go would feel any easier

~

Hannah Lewis is a poet and writer from metro-Detroit who has been previously published in the undergrad literary journal Oakland Arts Review in 2020. Her writing captures themes of nature, the macabre, mortality, and feminism. When not writing, you can find her talking too loudly about any number of things and identifying bugs for her friends. You can find her writing & connect through her instagram @hlewispoetry