Nocturnal vanishing act
The best way to fall is to sink, a seltzer tab dropping into a tall
glass of water, gravity slowing, bursting into fizz. Feel the lightness
of a sheet, the soft skin of a hand, the darkness of the night
a gentle, heavy pressure. When you fall as often as I do
(three times a day and once a night), it’s hard not
to disappear into your own shadow puppets.
They dance, enchant, and you plead for
them to never stop. But caution.
Do not fade into the mirage.
Keep your eyes open just
enough to see the
blurred line of
your own
hand’s
edge.
Hannah Seo is a Korean-Canadian writer, journalist, and poet based in Brooklyn. They spend their days writing prose with facts and straight lines, and their nights unraveling every rule they’ve learned, collaging the fragments into poetry. Their poetry has appeared in various publications, including Broadkill Review, Grain Magazine, The Portland Review, The New Limestone Review, and Open Minds Quarterly.
