I had been racing
around a corner too fast,
and someone had just
waxed the floor,
and you have to understand
that everything had been
flying apart at the seams,
we didn’t know when
things would stabilize,
and the lighting was off,
and I was running
from something,
maybe bullies,
I don’t remember,
I just remember
I took that turn
way too fast and
the floor was too slippery
and my feet flew out
from under me and
I went careening off
toward the tile floor,
and I hit hard,
I mean really hard,
it’s a wonder I didn’t
break something
(maybe I did),
and the whole cafeteria
grew hushed and still,
like someone had pressed
a pause button,
everyone looking at me,
waiting to see what I’d do,
and I didn’t think I had
the courage or the strength
to get back up,
but I did,
so I did,
I got back up,
and I was thirty pounds lighter
and dying of an eating disorder
because life’s waxed floors
are shined to
kill you.
This is an excerpt from Textbook of an Ordinary Life: poems. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash)
