I’m so
low down in the
dumps, woebegone,
weeping, heartsick, wiped
out, bummed out, crummy,
melancholic, gutted, glum, my
stomach hurts, and if I let myself
lay back, I think I’ll sink into the
bed, into the rug, into the
wood, into the dirt where very
dead bodies like me get buried in
the dark and wet and gross and
teeming epidermis of the Earth with
the bugs and creepy crawlers and
also pulsing, stretching, leggy roots
so thick and strong that they
could punch into my chest and
make a tree over my
body
like
a hug
and
actu—
ally
that
sounds
OK, a tree.
-Jay Eddy
Jay Eddy is a writer, composer, and performer. She is a recent New York Foundation for the Arts fellow and artist in residence at Yaddo. The twin polestars of her art are violence against womxn and disability.