Scout Faller
Summer 2024 | Poetry
a place i don’t remember and cannot leave
watch me hinge the second to the first. slowly against a wing.
lights flood pink. it splits, and when stitched, splits again. on
a leash. i defend my rights to vegetation. it took a while to
feel. what a door does. then immediacy. like water in the air.
taking a knife to a pineapple. i struggle for what’s freely
given. eyeing from a distance whatever anyone calls winter.
hills turn at the shoulder. i admit i was the light emerging.
like my father, conical and angry. in the beginning i arrived
so late. stuffing champagne back into the bottle. shooting into
a running stream. i realize a lived-in phrase. to pivot, and keep
turning. i forget i know how to read. a door is what it’s doing.
i did not learn what i always knew; to use one of several
words would ask their meaning would require asking. wearing
soft shoes. an examination would yield something—cities
declaring bankruptcy. direct your attention towards the stage.
tree number four does not speak. unrestrained hush
from the wing.
Scout is a Pushcart-nominated poet whose work has been shortlisted for the Surging Tide Writing Contest. They live in San Francisco with their girlfriend and their cat.