Sarah Karowski - Clumsy

In Sarah Karowski’s imaginative prose poem “Clumsy”, we are witness to beauty and magic blooming from the grittiness of hurt. The piece follows the spontaneous thoughts of the narrator, who falls and cuts themselves on the trail. This pain and injury leads to visions of natural purification, of becoming flora integrating itself to the narrator’s flesh and bone, and then finally a complete blending of humanity with the verdant forces of nature.

Clumsy

Twisted ankle on surfaced root. I feel it in my throat, you know what I mean? Physical & mental pain—from head to toe overwhelmed. scraped knee, dirt in blood stream: Am I closer to the earth now? I’ve got to get up, I’m blocking the thin trail, but I sit. Gravity humbles. Bruised butt. Focus on black mixed with red. Rub it in. Sting. Wince. Rub harder. Purify. Purify. Purify. Maybe from my knee, a flower will grow. Roots dig into my bones, plant itself, lace into me. When the first bud pokes from the soil of my flesh, I will know I’m worth something. Water myself daily. Fertilize the beauty that chose me. Make myself as delicate as a field of jasmine, innocent as the dandelions scattered along this trail. Bask in the sun: Taller & stronger I’ll grow.

Sarah Karowski

Sarah Karowski (she/her) holds her MFA from the Mississippi University for Women and currently teaches English at Tallahassee Community College. Her work has been featured in magazines like Drunk Monkeys, The Elevation Review, COALESCE Community, and Emerald Coast Writer’s newsletter The Legend, as well as anthologies with Five South, Moonstone Arts Center, and Quillkeepers, among others. Sarah currently lives in Tallahassee, Florida with her found family and two dogs. She spends her free time trying to call dragonflies to her telepathically.