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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“Missouri Pastoral 01” from DEBAUCH by Brooke Spalding.
Published by Bottlecap Press, April 2026
Copyright © 2026 by Brooke Spalding.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
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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