top of page
  • Peyton Sauer

a short meditation on rooms i have lived in long enough to sleep in (as far as i know)

sound muffled sight like a cheesecloth caught in a web

a tear against the sky (a window) drips down (slips down, slip gown) glass


ripping noise--

a stutter

cry

a shudder

a shutter closed to suppress a room of blue¹

a room of feeling

a room filled with glue


a room where the orange² sun hits the wall and makes a kind of

magenta³ color (re-member)


how many feathers

does it take to mark

an

empty grave

because i grieve the

truth* and the past

even though they are

not dead and drag on

[cry, remember, try to remember]


the fear of falling always follows even in sleep i dream of

someone (a hand) letting go and i dread the inevitable feeling of being dropped,



gold⁴ rings passed down a generation

does she miss them?



i struggle to find (a) room for my memories to resurface red⁵ and change but it’s hard



six.








1 ladybugs on the walls, painted and real. learned what bones are. learned what friends are.


2 stuck on a dresser, can’t get down feel on fire. wake up to the sound of a radio. sit on the tub. snuggle in.


3 a lot of jumping. a yellow house. pretending. petting a dog a walk-in closet kissing a boy.


4 the moon. an ipod. pink walls (not mine). not mine not mine not mine.


5 ink stains covered up by christmas trees. stomping. hiding more than usual. seeing the sun more than usual.


*as far as i know


Recent Posts

See All

WHEN THE DOG DIES

The girl and the dog awaken in the same room. The light coming in from the small window is cold, the blue-gray tones of Midwestern winters. The space heater is on. The dog eyes the girl through her mo

Creating Space

We were still children when we learned about boys and girls. She told me that she found out how babies are made. Mommy’s and Daddy’s kissed, which is why boys are so yucky. “Boys aren’t yucky!” I told

bottom of page