A toe-slip on ice
while stepping out
and I was tumbling
out of the car
in the coffee-shop parking lot,
scraped knees first, then grit
driven into my palms,
then my forehead
bang on the ground.
I rolled over to look
at the sky and take stock
of the perfect fluffy
rude clouds. Desolate,
worthless, old.
It’s harder to bounce
back from these things, now.
Rounding the car,
finding me on the ground
you said oh Baby.
Sara Eddy’s second full-length poetry collection, How to Wash a Rabbit, is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press. She is also the author of Ordinary Fissures (2024) and two chapbooks: Full Mouth (2020) and Tell the Bees (2019). Her poems have appeared in many online and print journals, including Threepenny Review, Raleigh Review, Sky Island, and Baltimore Review, among others. She lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, in a house built by Emily Dickinson’s cousin.