Two days to go,
and I’m feeling it again, as I always do, as is my gifted curse.
That twisted, knotted, slithering sensation in the pit of me.
The chasm yawns open and I’m shoved to the precipice
in a buffeting wind.
I hug myself hard and close my eyes.
One wish… two… third one’s the charm.
I hope? Oh God I hope.
Teeth gnashing, nerves crackling, gut roiling, world tilting.
Will I fall?
Or will I fly?
by Heather Killough-Walden