Lucas Peel

things i cannot tell my mother


the sliding glass door was not         the escape         i hoped it’d be

    post        bindlestick       /     razor scooter              fight or flight

         orchidbloom          of binky & babyteeth      /        blanketfort

curfewbreaker    /   first light spills     like a puddle   /     hipwader 

       splash        into tomorrow    /    eat    the moon        like candy

mouthbreather      /       memory is a child          clutching your leg

      in the park     /     i am both           child        &    remembrance 

shrine containing only refrigerators    /     macaroni picture frames 

i want to                explain           /                                    call home 

 how          the sidewalk        lies   /   how            careless      i   am

             curious  boy    /   nothing knows      truth        like absence

           exhale        /             your leaving will be          an invitation

i               can    /    will                   follow you                           out

learning to use my father’s gun 


your skin was like mine of course :      guilty / of trespass.       to be inside of something 

/   and not worry if you are welcome   /   is a blessing   /   that only comes with arrogance

 / amnesia.    /   the way freckles dance on your face when you laugh with   /   at my lack

 of better judgement is something like this:                    bleached by the sober-as-fuck sun

 /       disappointment in its leathery drought         /           and what i’ve turned away from:

 the interstate    /    the chickenwire fence   /    the guilt they were built on  /   in   place of.

/     the fact that we are existing atop all these bones is a testament to survival    /    i think

/  or some other kind of haunting  /    if you are not here to suck out the last bits of marrow

from our collective kill      /    this pledge of allegiance  /    this communion of violence   /

there just will be another desperate animal /  coming out of the forest /  to take your  place.

Lucas Peel is a big mouth moonlighting as an adult. His work has appeared in a handful of shelves on his mother's dresser. Lucas currently lives in Aiea, Hawaii. We do not know what he is yelling about.


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