Poetry by Sarah Peecher

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Marigold, Strawberry Blonde 
 
Before that first fear, I stood. 
A girl at a precipice, a cliff 
above an umber, carpeted abyss, 
one plush silken body with a plastic face 
in each of my fists, blanket trailing 
like a gown. Desire for something –  
I can’t remember what – at the bottom 
of the cavern, filled my tiny rose-gold head. 
I began my descent 
slipped suddenly on the second tread 
my body flung like a wilted flower. 
Slamming my skull on the cool floor, I 
lay silent in the amber dark before 
the shock ripped my vocal cords open – 
my worry of brokenness soon mirrored
in my parents’ wide eyes. 
         
                              After my millionth fear 
I just kept walking, clutching the firm glass 
of a bottle of malbec. 
Feeling cold as a polar vortex wind, 
I played it back – 
the rush of the white Mustang, 
my legs hurrying in slow motion, 
my own scream sounding outside of my head. 
If it kept playing forward –
the crush, the flare of red and blue lights 
against splayed petals of skin.
The voices of my friends reached me 
somewhere deep within – are you okay? 
It felt strange to say yes, 
and so quickly. 

​


Sarah Peecher is a poet living and working in Chicago. She holds a Creative Writing MFA degree from Columbia College Chicago and was a Nathan Breitling Poetry Fellow. Her poem, "Wayfinding," won the Allen & Lynn Turner Commencement Poetry Competition. Her recent work appears or is forthcoming in Allium: A Journal of Poetry & Prose, Bluestem, The Lincoln Review, and more. You can usually find her obsessing over her container garden.