for July Next to a ribcage she read from the book of dead birds. Maybe it was a whale jaw & she read from a museum. She’s a museum of tarot a bookshelf of good advice. No-one else stood a chance next to those slate bones. She could break bones, in case of emergency break the glass to summon her from tea, from staring at a blade of grass. Obliged like promising to keep Sabbath: thankfulness. Obliged like waving pedestrians to safely go. Oblige all the first-period students to write an ode, teaching Joseph’s dream to them stars, all tapping anxious implements on the laminate. When I forget how to poem she whispers: ulna, femur, tarsal. Whip up some sinews, gurl. She’s on a plane clacking keys, she’s exhuming rare tulip bulbs. Her greenhouse like a snapshot of Flevoland, windmills spinning, rows & rows of flowers for bones. The glasses of water by the bay windows in the small houses clean & the bone chimes toll in the distance.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Joey Gould, a Leo & a writing tutor, authored The Acute Avian Heart (2019, Lily Poetry Review) & Penitent>Arbiter (2022, Lily Poetry Review). Twice nominated for Bettering American Poetry and once for a Pushcart Prize, Joey’s work has appeared in Moonchild, The Compassion Anthology, Memoir Mixtapes, & District Lit. They also write reviews & serve as Poetry Editor for Drunk Monkeys. twitter: @toshines. ig: joey.toshines. website: joeygouldpoetry.wordpress.com.