"Chloe N. Clark deftly evolves and interrogates what it means to be a body moving through the mysterious expanse of space, getting lost in dark forests of emptiness but finding comfort in the stars, in the earth, in networks of roots. A Daphne figure, fleeing men, is turned into a tree, and the question is posed: “Would you beg the gods / for some other kind of saving?” In this world, myths, spells, magic tricks, dreams, space travel, and forests constellate a rumination on how to transcend the threats and limitations of flesh and bone—as she writes, “I wanted to be Houdini, be someone who escaped death over and over.” Clark conjures the cosmic rifts between us, grasping the loneliness and the inevitable losses of life, but her poems pivot on the hope of transformation: space can be an emptiness that “holds you.” Trees push “through our bones” and carry them skyward. A tree may die, but “still cuttings from it / could be regrown, rerooted.” We may seek an escape from the body, but in these poems, we are reminded that sometimes “the body can be a key.” In Escaping the Body, Clark beautifully binds hope to fear, shining light on the dark tableau of our present moment."– Maegan Poland, author of What Makes You Think You’re Awake?

"Chloe Clark can write anything and I submit as proof this collection of poetry. Part haunted mansion, part house of mirrors, part rocket ship, and always aching and honest, Escaping the Body plumbs the depths of what it is a poem can do and emerges with untold treasures. Who else could write a confessional poem turning PC error codes into ekphrastic vignettes? Or wreck us softly with the image of a sleepwalking lover weeping? Or make a love poem out of two people turning into sharks? This is a book of magic – of blood and cauldron and spell and tree, but also of straitjacket and lock to pick and risk of drowning, with Clark acting as both enchantress and Houdini."

– Todd Dillard, author of The Ways We Vanish