Poetry
under the weight
Jillian Arsenault — November 5th, 2022

It felt like the ceiling was caving in
I sat crouched in the basement
No room to stand
Breathing dust and mildew, arms stretched up, fingers holding the floor from collapsing
Dirt falling through the cracks, stinging my eyes
I couldn’t see
Like a fish in the ocean that doesn’t know it’s in the ocean
This had become the truth I knew
We adapt when we have to, over time
Until the moment the weight becomes too heavy
The foundation, against your own will and grit, collapses
And you lie there, in the debris
Grieving
That despite everything you endured, the house was always going to fall