Soup of the Day
Suddenly, you find your crisp mid-April self digging through the closet for Mini-interview with Sarah Peecher HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)? SP: In middle school, my best friend and I collaborated on a story together. We didn’t make it all the way through the drafting process, but we passed this notebook that had a black and pink diamond-patterned cover back and forth every day during study hall, handwriting a little love story about a couple of teens in New York City. She always took the story places that I didn’t expect, sometimes to my dismay, and other times, in ways that inspired me to continue. I think this early instance of collaboration helped me understand that the best writing comes from a collaborative process, whether in close proximity like me and my friend, or across space and time with the writers we read and love. HFR: What are you reading? SP: Mostly, a lot of student research papers and assignments, haha! But I’m slowly working my way through all of Elizabeth Bishop’s poetry. HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “Soup of the Day”? SP: My workshop instructor brought in the poem “These Yearly Returns” by Jennifer Moxley as inspiration. I was drawn to the pattern of long and short lines, and the run-on nature of them, comprising all sorts of associations. I was also learning more about essay-writing at the time, which also often involves thinking through writing. I started with thoughts about the season, and allowed my brain to go anywhere, even to the Backyardigans. HFR: What’s next? What are you working on? SP: I’m preparing for the publication of my first chapbook, Keeling, with Finishing Line Press in 2025! I’m also revising a hybrid poetry/fiction project and am slowly working on my first novel (might attempt a foray into a novel-writing challenge in November). I continue to work on my next collection of poetry as well, which is largely about my friendships and other relationships which make me who I am—vague but exciting. HFR: Take the floor. Be political. Be fanatical. Be anything. What do you want to share? SP: We can only change the world through our real, human relationships. We are lucky enough to connect through the internet with people anywhere; a few dollars, a message of support, calling out fascism and racism in our communities, a signature on a petition—all of that is never nothing. Sometimes I don’t believe that enough, but I take action anyway—I’m stubborn about holding out hope. Do. Not. Give. In. To. Despair. Free Palestine, destroy empire, and take care of your neighbors. Sarah Peecher (she/her) is a poet living and working in Chicago. She was a Nathan Breitling Poetry Fellow and the recipient of an MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia College Chicago. She teaches undergraduate writing and has been an editorial team member for several local publications — most recently, Unwoven Literary Magazine. Along with her educational and editorial work, she has curated work for Off the Page, a literary arts zine and exhibition, and hosts Juxtapose, a podcast of art pairings. Her poems can be found in The Lincoln Review, Agapanthus, Bluestem, and more, and her latest manuscript was a semi-finalist for the New Delta Review chapbook contest. She lives with her husband, Eli, and their two cats, Rumpus and Ruckus. You can find her on Instagram @sarahpeecher. Check out HFR’s book catalog, publicity list, submission manager, and buy merch from our Spring store. Follow us on Instagram and YouTube. Disclosure: HFR is an affiliate of Bookshop.org and we will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Sales from Bookshop.org help support independent bookstores and small presses.
anything lightweight enough that’s
not wrinkled but your summer wardrobe is an old friend you’re just
warming up to and nothing
seems to match the same way Saturday will be eighty degrees and sunny
and Sunday will be thirty-five
and rainy. Weather’s always what you feel safe talking about on video
calls because everyone feels
some way or another about the weather though the mere fact that it
changes should’ve gotten old
by now. You never get used to the way life constantly morphs around you
like some amoeba, but you’re a
little mitochondria, you, floating around the cellular soup of the day,
a microscopic powerhouse necessary for the
existence of everything. Just keep synthesizing or whatever it is you do to
spin the world around in
your hands, your palms open to the sky to check for rain and wow! Here’s
a whole story written
in print on each finger, the story where you’re different from everyone
who also raises their hands
toward the stars at a concert in the park when their favorite artist’s favorite artist
sings their favorite song
which has made it to the top forty playlist though you found it when the
artist was still underground,
literally, playing in basements though perhaps a talent scout was there, ready to
snatch them up like they
learned to at talent scout camp where they earned patches for their sashes
with each new talent acquisition
and they all celebrated in their matching outfits, but it started to rain at the
backyard barbecue. One day the Backyard-
igans will come to the rescue and sing a song you might not recognize because
you don’t know who those strange
creatures are. I know they’re five vibrant best friends with incredibly
active imaginations. They made it
to the wild west once, travelled through both space and time. Possibly,
if we linked hands, we
could do that too, and then we could become the world’s best weather-
people, with the most accurate
predictions. Then people would be so prepared for the weather they’d stop
talking about the changes like they’re
anything surprising. What would we talk about then?
Heavy Feather Review 