Underweight

His arms like slow cradles,

uneven breaths pressing

into the rumpled jacket I barely hold onto.

I laugh, too loud, cracking the quiet car.

Fingers loose as wet rope,

a ghost’s weight

on uneven shoulders.

The last time carried,

I tasted the hollow

of being too tired to stand,

and too stubborn not to fight.

We slip between moments,

wrapped tight in a breath

that holds me

just long enough.