2/14 It’s Valentine’s Day and I need a valentine because the mother of my children is “the mother of my children” and we haven’t talked since the divorce. I’m all dressed up with no valentine to go. I have a card and some flowers and I’m walking around eyeing the spoken-for valentines in the windows, the shop windows and the restaurant windows, with their husbands and their children. And I feel motherless. And I know I look motherless, too. I know in spite of my card and flowers and cowlick and new shoes, people can see right through me. They see I am an imposter. A poseur. A mother- fucker who would steal your valentine and help you look for her. What was she wearing? Was she young or old? Large breasts or small? Of course it’s a Tuesday in February, so it’s not like there’s any pollen in the air, but still, there's all this sex in the air, and the bare, motherless trees are standing erect in the cold winter wind, shivering with desolation.
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
Paul Hostovsky (he/him) is the author of numerous books of poetry, most recently, MOSTLY (FutureCycle Press, 2021). He has won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net Awards, and has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and The Writer’s Almanac.
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