Quick Side-Note to a Girl Who Would Have Wings in a Just World Actions have no repercussions when you are living in a vacuum. Some nights will carry you away on the back of a seagull: If you were made out of wood you would be a basket or a leg on a kitchen table. If you were the sunset you would shine bright pink and go away too soon. If you were a basket, you’d be full of all my eggs and people would ask me why I was carrying around a basket full of eggs. These are all I have, I would say. If I could do anything besides nurse my hangover alone in this cafeteria drinking luke-warm coffee, I would be riding on the back of a hawk over the canyon where you’re hiking. If I hadn’t torn my ACL in high school I could have been a lawyer or a doctor or a flight of sparrows heading toward the Rising Eastern Sun and falling to the ocean floor. Supposedly we know more about the universe than the ocean but I know for sure that at the bottom of the sea is you. You are one of those fish with fucking crazy teeth and a flashlight for a forehead and hot-tub jets for gills. You are powered by pure carbon and hydrogen. You would run a marathon if you only had legs. You have GPS built into your fins. You will swallow the sky when you finally grow lungs. If you were a poem you would be one that someone else wrote on a bathroom wall. You create black holes when you split a hair in a storm. If I stare into the sun long enough I’m sure I’ll see you staring back, or go blind in your absence. And: if you curved into me last night, on a bed without sheets, the stars would have fallen into the ocean to illuminate the place that exists in between bad decisions and repercussions where you and I thrive.
Craigslist Missed Connection Ad for a Girl On the Wrong Side of The Lake You were a dandelion petal that somehow landed here. Wearing a loose red sweater. I was the one lying in bed looking confused. I was the one who probably didn’t say the right thing at the right time. You were a bouquet of pink and red and yellow yarrow in a wooden box. You were a message in a bottle and I was the one standing at the wrong side of the sea. There’s a dandelion here to remind me you were real. We would be two ships passing in the night, except boats make me anxious and I wake up when you are falling asleep. I could have been a famous poet with all the words I couldn’t find to say to you in my fluster. You were an old wooden house floating in a tornado. You were a stopwatch wound for a place where time does not care for bread crumbs, golden spools, or grand pianos. You were a note in a melody. I was the out of tune key. You may have seen me. Would love to get in contact. Do you have an address or should I send this note via enchanted carrier pigeon?
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
Dean Boskovich is a 26-year-old cook and college dropout living in Asheville, NC. He writes poetry when he’s supposed to be working and smiles warmly about the existence of dogs and denim. Dean hopes your friends didn’t think he was being too awkward the other day. If you wanted to, you could find him on instagram @deanboskovich or on twitter @dirtydean