Verticality is a Choice

The grocery bag handle snapped and my lower back

gave up on the concept of being an upright thing.

I leaned against the brick, watching the high school

floodlights hum over the empty bleachers.

A kid in a jersey, sobbing without a sound,

was slung over his father’s shoulder.

That smell of damp wool and old sweat

reached across the parking lot like a hand.

I haven't been that high off the ground

since the fever in ninety-eight.

I remember the specific height of a shoulder,

the way the hallway ceiling felt too close,

and the terrifying ease of letting someone else

decide where my feet would land.