When we met / I was 19 / still a horizon / a net full of fish / you confused me for / conquerable / a split wish bone / a moon waiting / for fresh footprints / & maybe that’s / exactly what I wanted / to seem unassuming / because it’s never / the gun / that’s interrogated / never / the great white / cross-examined / and you didn’t realize / I’d be your own undoing / if you let me be
Glass & Plastic
When she points out the recycling is more beer bottles than black beans, my body mumbles something about the weather; I’m preparing for a party I’ll never host or cooking with more wine.
I don’t know how to tell you it’s been hard for me to be around me.
The shower head never runs hard enough to leave a ring of me around the drain. I walk deep into the forest, wait in the dark, then give up and leave.
I realize I am waiting for something to take me, throwing myself into opportunities to dissolve, and nothing sticks.
It’s not comfortable, falling asleep at the bottom of a bottle, but it’s the only place I’m obscured enough.
Schuyler Peck is a poet and anxious free-spirit residing with her husband in Portland, Oregon. She was raised in New Jersey and has an uncanny love for 1940's music, gardening, Buddhist literature, and cheese danishes. She is the author of A Field of Blooming Bruises and Cliche Buddhist White Girl. Her work has been featured in JuxtaProse Magazine, Persephone's Daughters Magazine, and Rising Phoenix Review, as well as an upcoming book with Recenter Press in 2019. Find more of her work at schuylerpeck.tumblr.com. She loves you.