play risk by gracie abrams please !
Every phone call
feels like testing
a twisted ankle-
hoping it holds,
bracing for the give.
I want to believe
there’s something
in the way he looks-
a softness,
a second too long.
But reading him
is like reading tired-
up late, eyes blurring,
repeating the same line
again and
again I’m peering
through a half-shut eye,
a lash stuck,
squinting to see
if I’ve imagined it-
the blurred shape
of want
I’ve made
in my mind.
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