by Samantha Moe
I miss threading
my fingers through
my problems, my
hair, my god
you remember
the magic?
False Ending
Good morning you, hey you, I survived you
wouldn’t know the difference between no
access to gardens verses no access to velvets
amateur prayers and the deli man doesn’t
want to see me anymore, who will make me
egg sandwiches, who will help me break yolk
with the flat end of the fork, just a thick smack
into the heart and all the blood comes out, maybe
I mean ribbons, sickness, blue robes and memory
soaked in the tub, am I still sick if I don’t talk
about illness anymore, do I still want to die if
I offer you a nice ham and cheese sandwich
middle of the night again, electric crosses cover
the fields in stale light, and where was I again
why did I come to you at this table? I suppose
I wanted you to feel something of joy for me
lately I am incapable of feeling for myself
I’m more of a bug than a candy, more melted
and wingless and green, more into prayer these
days because who doesn’t toss God into their
ruminations, what else is there to do when you
cycle through all the what’s-the-matters and
your don’t-you-stop-trying-nows, well water
would you know whether or not there is effort
or muscle left, who’s to say my bones aren’t
melting, tempering in with the best of them.
Tidal
Curve of cave, mouth
like a flower
bloom, always
when I’m with you
untethered heart
old blanket
satin sky
I miss meat
I miss threading
my fingers through
my problems, my
hair, my god
you remember
the magic?
spells in maple
trees, sticky syrup
we feed to the dogs
ribbons of ribeye
hell hounds aren’t
as bad as you
might remember
me in your backyard
trees all twisted from
storms and lamps
the fisherman hung
crabs emptying of
meat and stomach
hurt so much
the digging
let my feelings
burn
copper blood
blanket
empty shower
rooms
echoes
the way water
always falls
in love with
your hair drying
over the porch
and into the
woods, spotted
birds and shoes
covered in mud
what happens now
you’ve seen me
a mess, not brave
no witch, not now
maybe later we can
steal love and loaves
of bread from the store
downtown are ponies
purple-hide hounds
bells, shells, weapons
whispers and jam jars
did you remember to
turn off the lights
of my heart
I know nothing
© Samantha Moe
Sam Moe (she/her) is the recipient of a 2023 St. Joe Community Foundation Poetry Fellowship from Longleaf Writers Conference. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming from Whale Road Review, The Indianapolis Review, Sundog Lit, and others. Her poetry book Heart Weeds is out from Alien Buddha Press (Sept. ’22) and her chapbook Grief Birds is out from Bullshit Lit (April ’23). Her full-length Cicatrizing the Daughters is forthcoming from FlowerSong Press in 2024.
Find her on Instagram and Twitter @SamAnneMoe.
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