Cate Peebles
Mother Tongue
Mother/ didn’t teach me about bleeding/ she pointed to a shelf/ and I learned to swaddle myself/ the sun/ stuttered down the blinds/ and stains began to set/ she recited/ the catechism in her head/ backwards/ in bed/ her legs up the wall/ to improve blood flow/ to the amygdala/ crisscrossed her lips/ with green light/ yellow twine/ I asked her/ what do you mean/ but she showed me/ the definition of dynamite/ opened her soundless mouth/ speech is explosion/ pointed with one finger/ your birth/ pitched to death/ rigid vein-wrapped femur / it learns to let go/ a stag’s antlers shedding in December/ repeats renewal/ mimics branches/ how did you pick my name?/ I once asked/ She closed my eyes/ finger to lip/ shh/ pointed to an empty page/ catharsis/ I could have been something/ she saw/ and plucked/ from the garden/ I write new endings on blank pages/ after the afterward/ as a kid/ I made jelly sandwiches/ to eat in a dark closet/ a rocket cockpit/ reading Jane Eyre/ rehearsed her ire/ red rooms in every cell/ I drew a horse/ scribbled mad/ blue fingers/ in a thatched basket/ wondered/ what could be/ scarier than birth/ an ordinary terror/ it’s nothing/ personal/so
Revenge Body
A woman returns/ to the home where she died/ a switchblade in every pocket/ a silver shade/ nesting with sparrows/ in the attic/ where the family knives are stored/ blades/ effortlessly upfront/ about what they do best/ not mastering a craft/ but crafting paper masks/ take/ a walk/ with me/ she says/ she/ hovers in a rafter/ walk/ through a thresher/ remembering the uncut/ days/ but shredded/ gravel/ good as emeralds/ swinging/ bottle green/ drape her sword-threaded clavicle/ the pointed rush/ a yellow slip hangs/ over a screen/ husband/ you chose another/ so she comes back/ all edges/ a sharp fog/ woman/ rain painted thick/ against the window/ she watches with/ her fingertips/ dragged through/ ragged mist/ flays it/ with a touch/ the groan/a white robe/ indigo fringe/ hands & arms/ made of glass/ & steel/ visceral daggers/ cleave her widowed parts/ gutted eyes/ lungs/ spleen/ heart/ dangles/ black hair/ bandages thread wind/ she waits for him/ behind a door/ floating razorblades/ redder/ than exile/ in a well of/ frayed ribbon & bone
Cate Peebles is the author of THICKET (Lost Roads Press, 2018) and several chapbooks, including THE WOODLANDS (Sixth Finch Books, 2016) and JAMES (dancing girl press, 2014). Recent work has appeared in The American Poetry Review, South Dakota Review, Poetry Northwest, and Harp & Altar, among others; poems are forthcoming in Bennington Review, Ploughshares, and Washington Square Review. She coedits the online poetry magazine, Fou, and can be found online at catepeebles.com, but her body resides elsewhere.