David Yezzi’s poem, “Woman Holding a Fox,” appeared in NER 20.3 (1999):
Buried inside, page three, below the fold,
a woman crumpled on fresh dirt begins to get the gist:
that she has lost the use of her left leg, that when she tripped
her hip gave out. Shock explains
this all to her, a self-assured young doctor mouthing, Rest
The reason for the break, a rabid fox
that came at her when she stepped out for half a cigarette.
Age seventy-nine, the paper said; she hadn’t toppled far,
merely down her few front steps,
but late enough that no one finds her till the following day.