Gabrielle Peterson

men as described
by Gabrielle M. Peterson

as june bugs. warm weather phenomena.
waiting for us in lime and lemon light,
floorboard cracks and burning sidewalk pavement.
settling on a noon like leaf or birch.
i step on some. others, like fig-eaters,
like tiny ten-lined watermelons, i spare,
not keeping anyone alive for anything other
than connotation. and as for dodging, i prefer
sole to iris — a new breed of sidestepping.
am i too tall for you? too cluttered
with my stacks of dirty flatware that
cause your bodies to swell —? leftover porcini and
we are betrayed — science told us
your kind ate roots. but what of nights
when we are alone and cold despite the summer,
dreaming of walks and a time i somewhat recall
my small hand in yours, waking to a vellum echo
like faraway tin foil that is you
and your eggshell frame
moving through the walls, in and out
of baseboards. a scarab ghost
in the middle of june.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 2.

Gabrielle PetersonGabrielle M. Peterson is a writer currently living in Chicago, Illinois. She reviews fiction for Midway Journal, is a contributor to The Huffington Post, and has written poems that have appeared in The Literary Bohemian, Chimes & Sirens, Euonia Review, Triggerfish Critical Review, and Front Porch Review.

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