Elizabeth Jacobson

Issue #
October 3, 2017


This morning, waking from long
voluptuous sleep

I felt my life warm to this warming
world, and then fall away. The ledge

not crumbled beneath me
but pulled back,

as I stood at its edge.
Like that tablecloth trick

where the settings remain in place –
all my pieces intact as I fell

through the pine tops,
my mind loosening –

its language
the first to salute the velocity.

With my feet still on the granite
I looked up to see an osprey

flying just overhead,
a trout secure in its talons,

the fish’s tail swimming through the wind.
I saw the yellow glint of its scales,

the flesh torn from a struggle,
then as if magic,

a drop of warm blood in my hair.

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