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.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.