Between Floors

Between the fourth and fifth, the cable stops,

six of us in steel, and my heartbeat drops.

All eyes on screens, all eyes on light,

all of us pretending this is all right.

The emergency button glows above the doors,

red as a question nobody wants to explore:

are you afraid? will you press?

will you admit we're in distress?

Three seconds pass. The air gets thin.

I think about the cable, I think about sin,

about how much I trust a rope,

about how little I have of hope

when I'm this close to strangers,

when I'm surrounded by dangers

I can't name, can't touch, can't control.

Then the motor catches. We're whole.

Everyone looks back at their phones,

grateful we made it, grateful for stones

to hide under, grateful the button stayed dark,

grateful we didn't have to embark

on the terrible honesty

of being stuck, of being me.