Sara Peck
Bas Relief
Whole buildings without you, if it’s raining the way seeds read WILD there
on the label. Like being outside, it’s hot and what I mean when I say there are
walls everywhere, flowers bend to sun but buildings stay right. The difference
between stigma and style.
*
We give to houses, it’s quiet knowing the neighbors. At the most late and
deep a night can go, the ginkgos still the darkest, immodest against sky. Some
days there are letters that won’t come down. I meant we sat on the radiator.
There should be a weathervane.
Artichoke Heart Of the World
with you the back alley
consumes red succulents
and chaparral is finally overtaking
I write tomato
practically everyday
when cows lay on the west
where is the rain
birds of prey widen
whatever is under them
us included
in sap smell we
wasted everything
on the way down-
shore cows and a tent
eating sea scrub
I cried we touched Chicago
a small missing in the Midwest
arranges the inside
of my knees like a bouquet
recovers the exposed bulbs
and it’s not that we are better
there it’s that we are aimless
Finite Remorses
I swear your wooden heart
you make everyone else
everyone else
a thrave can be
any number of measurements
and I am the smaller
vegetables
we being all at sea
this is starting
with a shovel
Morris Island
The sand being difficult I wait for the washout. Beach spread atmosphere and is
anyone missing a boat. All left of this one island a lighthouse. I can see breakers still
break ordinary against it. We are still people who need light. Rotating landless, light
churning up geology and is it appropriate to discuss where the sand goes next.
*
If I asked you to stop the wear, I know I’m not supposed to nurse your west coast
flaking toward Japan. Sandbars in your chest, the wind ignites a fever. To find the
fire. We have to rebury the boats.
Yet In Flower & Not Cut Down
See my eyelids of morning almost transparent, but I’m not looking back at you, blinds slice
the light upward, bleach the whole ceiling bright and maybe this is where
the snow hides, in your sleep mouth
fill it all with snow, see what I can sleep through. In the longest waves are so many dreams,
countless amounts of dreams, all too heavy to remember, see the wind draw up leaf and stick
shadows, see we have a constellation happening, you
see my calamity in the wrinkles and if suddenly I am awake
let me gather up my breath before we go
Sara Peck lives in Charleston, SC. She sells used books, teaches middle school, and makes sorbet. Her work is now or forthcoming with OmniVerse, Versal, and Parcel, among others.
Return to July 2014 Edition
Whole buildings without you, if it’s raining the way seeds read WILD there
on the label. Like being outside, it’s hot and what I mean when I say there are
walls everywhere, flowers bend to sun but buildings stay right. The difference
between stigma and style.
*
We give to houses, it’s quiet knowing the neighbors. At the most late and
deep a night can go, the ginkgos still the darkest, immodest against sky. Some
days there are letters that won’t come down. I meant we sat on the radiator.
There should be a weathervane.
Artichoke Heart Of the World
with you the back alley
consumes red succulents
and chaparral is finally overtaking
I write tomato
practically everyday
when cows lay on the west
where is the rain
birds of prey widen
whatever is under them
us included
in sap smell we
wasted everything
on the way down-
shore cows and a tent
eating sea scrub
I cried we touched Chicago
a small missing in the Midwest
arranges the inside
of my knees like a bouquet
recovers the exposed bulbs
and it’s not that we are better
there it’s that we are aimless
Finite Remorses
I swear your wooden heart
you make everyone else
everyone else
a thrave can be
any number of measurements
and I am the smaller
vegetables
we being all at sea
this is starting
with a shovel
Morris Island
The sand being difficult I wait for the washout. Beach spread atmosphere and is
anyone missing a boat. All left of this one island a lighthouse. I can see breakers still
break ordinary against it. We are still people who need light. Rotating landless, light
churning up geology and is it appropriate to discuss where the sand goes next.
*
If I asked you to stop the wear, I know I’m not supposed to nurse your west coast
flaking toward Japan. Sandbars in your chest, the wind ignites a fever. To find the
fire. We have to rebury the boats.
Yet In Flower & Not Cut Down
See my eyelids of morning almost transparent, but I’m not looking back at you, blinds slice
the light upward, bleach the whole ceiling bright and maybe this is where
the snow hides, in your sleep mouth
fill it all with snow, see what I can sleep through. In the longest waves are so many dreams,
countless amounts of dreams, all too heavy to remember, see the wind draw up leaf and stick
shadows, see we have a constellation happening, you
see my calamity in the wrinkles and if suddenly I am awake
let me gather up my breath before we go
Sara Peck lives in Charleston, SC. She sells used books, teaches middle school, and makes sorbet. Her work is now or forthcoming with OmniVerse, Versal, and Parcel, among others.
Return to July 2014 Edition