My Body Like a Hug

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



a hug






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.