About the work
Head tipped back, eyes closed, a hand grasping the throat. The knot holds fast and the breath waits, and then comes the release.
The poem
The knot holds fast a thick lump curled in the throat, heavy with almost. Certainty frays, and too many truths are overlapping, none willing to yield. Then comes the release not a scream, but a slow unlacing, where the knot slips free and the breath escapes into the air.
