Missouri Pastoral 01

Brooke Spalding

I’m angrywhen neighbors roll slowand talk about godthrough the salt-cakedmini-van windowbut I don’t want to be madabout godbecause I know what they mean.My compost pile thaws in Missouri. My husband and I talk aboutNew York in the shower.It’s nice to see a peniswhen you’re giving upon your dreams together. Limpkale hangsandI think about all the winterpruning I was supposed to do.I take outchicken bonesfrom quartered legs,old jasmine rice,wet sliced potatoesI like looking at the compost. At the pile ofresurrection. The breadis blooming green mold,that’s a sign of warmth.God is the feeling of momentumlying on the grass.

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Color exterior headshot of Brooke Spalding in a garden

Brooke Spalding is the author of the chapbook DEBAUCH (Bottlecap Press 2026). She lives, writes and teaches in Kansas City, Missouri.

DEBAUCH pursues the intricacies of domestication through a hyper-midwest lens. The speaker, the poet, the brat is at once moved and stuck in place by monogamy, the always present potential of motherhood, native plants, hangovers, ghosts, and horses.

The prairie ecosystem is largely extinct, but prairie madness is abundant here. Through the lost oceans of flyover country, DEBAUCH finds solace in getting drunk at KC bars to avoid further domestication. Sticky public bathrooms are the only settings that feel sane. These poems traverse the never-ending highways of Missouri to find nothing in particular, just whatever keeps momentum.

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