My mother’s hands scurrythrough the junk drawersearching for the scissors.Dull blades. Yellow handles. She corners mein the bathroom. Bends meover the sink, my back pressedover the edge. Formica. Scrubbed with Pine Sol.The fumes dizzy me. Disorientme, blades brandishedtoward my bangs. She has no level. No bowlto chop around. Just her cataract eyes,blurred, to maneuver the … Continue reading She Builds Her House Around My Body – Marianne Peel
I used to think separation was an easylackadaisical thing. Skipping townon an errand that never ends.A one-way ticket out and down the road. I have to practice being without you,you told me. As if I am a celloconcerto that you must return toeven in your sleep. Left hand pressingblindly on an invisible fret board. Righthand … Continue reading This Thing Between Us: A Rehearsal – Marianne Peel
We would caterwaul to high heaven when the rains halted, as my mother would say. We knew that my mother would be tending to the laundry. Saturday chores. From hamper to wringer washing machine. To the clothesline with pillowcases and sheets and tablecloths and daddy’s boxers and my trainer bras all suspended with clothespins. … Continue reading What Storm, What Thunder – Marianne Peel
I. My former student Clara – star of brilliance studying at Oxford – clutches a chunk of concrete from a construction site in her hand, as she walks home today. A windowless van loaded with men drives away, laughing at her in the wake of their exhaust. Within five minutes a man who claims I’ve … Continue reading All That She Carried – Marianne Peel
She is such a smart little girl. She doesn’t daydream about butterfly wings or the color of the sea bottom. She doesn’t see elephant tusks bellowing in the clouds. She doesn’t picture herself flying over tarred roofs balancing tea cups on her shoulders. She doesn’t use two pussy willow branches to ease her way down … Continue reading Dictionary Girl, They Called Her – Marianne Peel
Brave & Reckless 