top of page

sarah weck

Untitled design_edited.jpg
American Baby



Orange in the streetlamp glow

too red I fold him 


into the covers where                               he never tells me his real name 

I’m fucking a myth 


myth I’ll never stay the night in 

I play with his 


advertisements and he grows I’m            pregnant with Baby’s baby, 

the world catching fire 


chrome-walled cherry pie

mirror shudders on the menu 


chocolate strawberry pecan                     bleach 

filling up the soapy tub 


naked white paper burning in the stove

while flames eat our faces 


like small animals                                      fear is chemical

I know it doesn’t make sense babe


I’m sorry 

I don’t want to show you the sky


or the pigeon’s nest                                  over the shopping complex 

bleeding into a neon call for truth 


in Jesus but wait 

show me the nest                                      before the train arrives 


scream my name in the yard before 

my girls all hiss at you,                              intruder below 


plastic strangling bits of our forest 

a warm organ beats                                  between my legs 


pulsing out through the slit 

of my thighs                                               I mother 


the invisible parallax 

Lactaid and a trip to the library 


morgue plastic and a warm whiskey 

dove of a hand                                           it feels good 


to dress as an angel 

it feels good to fold the quilt together 


elaphine                                                     I think of all the ways

a body can decompose 

Sarah Weck is a poet & sound designer/mixer from the dirty jerz living in brooklyn. currently writing with catapult and the cuny writer’s institute. Instagram: @sarahweck

bottom of page