Peter Scalpello
That soggy winter we lived laterally. Emotion emboldened us before melting
into thin air. It was another year of contracts; we had the need to grieve
within office hours. We met each other at contrasting angles and so continued
slightly grazed. I veered away from writing, practiced patience; drawing things
as they were instead of how I’d prefer them to be. The pain of nerve endings.
The river’s fleshiness as it enters and is entered. The elongated lines of our present tense.
The notion of spilling out was the notion of being contained
in the first place. Everywhere I glanced were outlines of condolence,
a suggested shape to slip into. We were asynchronous with time
yet fortunate enough to exist through it, like the spaces between
words. For this I held suspicions of myself, accusations. I saw the ugliness
in my own safety. The cost of cost. I tried erasing everything but couldn’t
untouch the surfaces. Abided sketching the sunlit birds in flight, casting
winged shadows on all but sky. I saw that your shadow will outlive you.
Peter Scalpello is a poet and psychotherapist from Glasgow, based in London. Their work has appeared in Five Dials, Granta, The London Magazine and the New York Times, among other publications. Peter’s debut, Limbic, was Highly Commended for the Forward Prize for Best First Collection. Their second book, Mirrorstage, will be published with Cipher Press in 2026.
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