Lizzie D'Elia

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High Ceilings

You said you were afraid to look
up. My head followed
your unspoken instruction. I read

a book about vertigo—not
the film, but the feeling. Its borrowed
pages were torn as if someone were trying

to hide something from us. When my neck
craned back with a creaky click I couldn’t
understand what you were so

scared of. The skylight hugged the stars
and each clattering cutlery and scraping
sound was silenced. You couldn’t

even look at me. When my head
snapped back mousetrap-like, you were holding
your breath for so long you grew

a purply shade
of blue. I didn’t get it
until you were leaning over a railing

staring dead down at those pointy
people below. I told you that being
up and looking down makes me feel

like the world
is spinning. You said: that’s because
it is.

Lizzie D'Elia is a writer from New Jersey studying creative writing at Salisbury University. She writes poetry as well as prose and her work tends to focus on the gritty parts of the human psyche and the human body. She is currently a fiction editor on The Scarab and her love and passion for writing grows every day.