Sunday, October 23, 2022

New Poetry by Lydia Pejovic

Wild horse rights advocates say:

leave the hoofprints in the dirt. If we
continue to sweep away the remnants

of what stepped here yesterday, or last
century, or tomorrow, what can we make

of walking patterns or the weather? Think
about the recent rains that washed away

red dirt and anthills. What would we do
without knowledge of a natural cleanse?

We would think that someone wiped away
the hoofprints, or worse yet, someone took

the horses and domesticated them and cut
their hooves into new shapes, so that they

could decorate the land in different, more
controlled, ways.

hit lock

he puts the car key in his mouth and hits “lock” / we’re a distance from his car but / i hear a horn down the garage / he tells me that an open mouth amplifies range / and locks the doors from afar / it’s science, baby, he says / i want to put the keys on my tongue / i want to give him the back of my throat / and let my uvula become his punching bag / the range that we could create / would be a wide wide chasm / almost as large as the space / between the past versions of us / it is selfish for him to break / the rules of distance / things shouldn’t work in certain ranges / for certain reasons, yet / he finds ways to extend himself / far and deep inside / past any existing laws or ideas / that i believed to be true

- © Lydia Pejovic 2022

Lydia Pejovic is a writer, lecturer, and current dual English MA/MFA student at Chapman University. She received her BA in English from the University of San Diego. She writes both fiction and poetry. Check her out at

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