Peedeel Confesses

December 1, 2018

Okay, I admit it: I’m partial to a few French fries.

What the hell –

I’d eat a mountain of French fries if the opportunity ever arises. I really am a sludge-gulper and don’t care.


December 1, 2018

She did not know her real name.
Baby, they called her.
Baby. Honey. Sweetheart. Sexy.
Would you like another name?
“Yes,” she said.

She was in a small room with a webcam
When I called to her. Gently.
I gave her back her clothes
and said we could watch cartoons
after the doctor examined her.
She asked where her mommy was.

How can I say that mommies can hurt you?
They can brush your hair, give you candy,
and hurt you in ways you cannot yet understand.
They can tell you things that are not true.
They can teach you what you should not learn,
not at five. Not at ten. Not ever.

Explain safe to a child.
Can you do that in words she can grasp
with tiny, trembling fingers?
If you can, please teach me.
Show me how to explain what testify means
without making her cry again.
Tell me what to say when she asks,
“Will my mommy go to jail?”

She has stopped talking.
She watches The Little Mermaid every day.
She draws Ariel in red and green.
She draws herself, alone on a beach.
I do not know how to give her voice back.

Tell me the words to a song
That will turn her thin, oversized shirt
into thick scales and a strong tail.
Then I can bring her to the sea.
I will carry her from shore to water,
until we are submerged
and with the push of a current
her voice will return
and we can speak.

Michellan Sarile Alagao

The wolf runs

December 1, 2018

The wolf runs.
It runs three legged, like all damaged creatures, across the snow.
She thinks: this is true.
She thinks: this is a life.
She thinks: I do not want to die, but my life will always be like this — wounded and animal, lurching against white.

Lidia Yuknavitch
The Small Backs of Children

talking into possibility

December 1, 2018

Poetry is for me one form of conversation. It is a way of talking back and talking into things —talking back and talking into memory, and ancestry; talking into the geographies I inhabit and the family I am part of; talking back at calamity and experience; talking into relationship, talking back and talking into the languages that have shaped my understanding of the world I live in; talking back and talking into history; talking into possibility and into hope.

Darrel Bourque
(Authors’ Preface) Call and Response: Conversations in Verse
Jack B. Bedell and Darrell Bourque

bizarre flower

December 1, 2018

You yourself are the bizarre flower of some unknown dream.

Renée Vivien
A Woman Appeared To Me
tr. Jeanette H. Foster

delicious slowness

December 1, 2018

Solitude and rain and a melancholy-sweet landscape.

I am reading with delicious slowness.

Life seems inconceivably rich.

Joyce Carol Oates
diary entry October 1973

write beautiful books

December 1, 2018

…So that if I may not write beautiful books, I may at least read beautiful books; and what joy can be greater?

Oscar Wilde
De Profundis


December 1, 2018

I’m not the type of woman for fairytales; I don’t believe in princesses, but rather Queens. I’m not interested in the pristine but rather the call of the wild. You’ll find me dancing with swords and smashing glass slippers. True to the name, this Cinderella will leave the whole place in cinders at the strike of a match.

Alannah Radburn