Poem in Which I fall

Push on, then one small falter:
how do we stand on two feet?
Doubt swings a sharp axe.

Felled, I watch a hundred
shoes skirt my spread coat,
crime scene with legs wide,

bag open-mouthed, slid
phone a cloud in a pond.
Are you all right? Stranger,

your gaze mothers over
my heaped puppet,
lunged ambition, dusty soles.

Sarah Wedderburn

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