The Slightest Shift

One minute, numbers swam in columns,

the next, the room just buckled.

Not the floor, exactly, but the space

where the floor used to be.

My stomach lurched, a sudden, wet flip.

Hand out, fast, for something solid.

The doorframe, chipped paint slick

under my palm, cool sweat.

It wasn't just blood rushing, or not rushing,

it was the world, deciding

to lean, just a little, off its axis.

Everything felt askew,

a loose tooth in the jaw of the day.

And I, just holding on,

against the tilt, the quiet shudder

of the almost fall.