perhappened mag
issue 15: DISGUISE
a study of prometheus
and what was left of the harbor
MCCAELA PRENTICE
I. I cannot mistake it for love,
the clay beneath the nails and the sun crashing
into the day with the familiar ferocity of the last
for every morning I saw him grin
wide as Bass Harbor
knowing what came next
II. It’s your best trick-
to throw me up against the countertop
like I’m a fire you must put out
and then only watch yourself
in the mirror
III. I’ve walked hotter coals
to convince myself it was
something I’d been given;
a sacrifice all so I
could walk home bruised
and buy my favorite flowers
IV. for nothing
I’ve driven to that shore and looked up
at that cliff
to see the raptors dancing on the dying beams
of sunlight sinking
into my dark reflection
V. again
my fingers feel that they are burning
and I flinch
when you kiss my stomach.
I think forever
is a threat.
the clay beneath the nails and the sun crashing
into the day with the familiar ferocity of the last
for every morning I saw him grin
wide as Bass Harbor
knowing what came next
II. It’s your best trick-
to throw me up against the countertop
like I’m a fire you must put out
and then only watch yourself
in the mirror
III. I’ve walked hotter coals
to convince myself it was
something I’d been given;
a sacrifice all so I
could walk home bruised
and buy my favorite flowers
IV. for nothing
I’ve driven to that shore and looked up
at that cliff
to see the raptors dancing on the dying beams
of sunlight sinking
into my dark reflection
V. again
my fingers feel that they are burning
and I flinch
when you kiss my stomach.
I think forever
is a threat.
McCaela Prentice (she/her) is currently living + writing in Astoria, NY. She treats Shark Week like a national holiday. Her poetry has previously been featured in Hobart and Ghost City Review. Her first chapbook, “Junk Drawer Heart,” was published with Invisible Hand Press. Twitter: @mccaelaa; Instagram: @mccaelaa.