Mallory Pearson

every night something ticks across the attic 

and waits for me to wake up. 

i dream about being someone you lift into the air 

nose pressed among your hair, arms encircled, 

and all the while something moves through the woods 

with teeth intact. 

every night, a bid for sleep, 

firebird burning in the closet,  

waiting to be someone else’s dream, 

again we are in the same room 

and you’re giving her a kiss after touching me, 

just like the waking days of slick July. 


it’s been a year and the mountains have not been moved, 

clouds stagnant in the waiting. 

every day it rains like the world is warring 

for daffodils, and i wonder if this is what Rome was like, 

feeling so fiercely that collapse is just a part of it. 

morning comes hot over august 

and i dream with my eyes open 

about being a crane on the edge of the Shenandoah, 

fishing for stars, bending for avoidance. 

i try not to think about how it has always been like this, 

the build, then fall; if i were the kind of ghost 

that knew how to haunt, i’d lay in the river 

beyond your room, under the trees, 

and i could sleep, even if just to pretend 

the rest of it will be over soon. 

Mallory Pearson is a 21-year-old painter, jeweller, and poet currently living in Brooklyn, NY. She has a great interest in spirituality, sexuality, and femininity, and spends most of her time quickly getting bored of new hobbies.