stormless july
1.
my leg burns
the now-full leech
fickle hungry pickled apple
i tell the others not to put it
in the apple jar.
2.
I don’t know how to withstand
sweetness.
3.
i do not want to be reminded
i have a body.
4.
i try to go gentle into the lake
so as not to bother the feeding surface
of algae, green networks bound together .
5.
i was, alone
wading into the deepest water
toes slipping on silt, ripping over stones.
6.
no sunbathers only small gold spiders
turned to stickers from the summer.
7.
you don’t love me, i can live with that.
it’s that i’m going to have to live without you.
8.
i haven’t even told you yet that I love you.
9.
it’s the pines with their sap
it’s the mushrooms resembling poisonous
candies
it’s the dried-out tomatoes,
the first of the summer.
10.
the sky knows I am vulnerable
11.
the storm is late
the saints point and laugh while i wait
for water.
12.
i hurry my tongue into sticky buns
you did not come home that day
how was i to know
the point of summertime yearning
is enchantment.
my leg burns
the now-full leech
fickle hungry pickled apple
i tell the others not to put it
in the apple jar.
2.
I don’t know how to withstand
sweetness.
3.
i do not want to be reminded
i have a body.
4.
i try to go gentle into the lake
so as not to bother the feeding surface
of algae, green networks bound together .
5.
i was, alone
wading into the deepest water
toes slipping on silt, ripping over stones.
6.
no sunbathers only small gold spiders
turned to stickers from the summer.
7.
you don’t love me, i can live with that.
it’s that i’m going to have to live without you.
8.
i haven’t even told you yet that I love you.
9.
it’s the pines with their sap
it’s the mushrooms resembling poisonous
candies
it’s the dried-out tomatoes,
the first of the summer.
10.
the sky knows I am vulnerable
11.
the storm is late
the saints point and laugh while i wait
for water.
12.
i hurry my tongue into sticky buns
you did not come home that day
how was i to know
the point of summertime yearning
is enchantment.
August Bonfire
when I think of you it’s in snatches,
shaking hands, coming home covered
in hickory and cashew, bonfire dust
on my clothes, ash on my eyebrows, I’ll
sleep with fire ghosts and think of you
and where you are now, I’ve no clue
there’s a new one, with shawls of clay
stars who bumps shoulders with me in
streets I’ve never been down before,
where couches sit on grass, honeycomb
lights line porches, music spills down the street
I thought no one knew me, I think she’ll
leave, too, and I’ll have to deal with claws
at my chest crying into open spaces, taping
vanilla cigarillo wrappers into my diaries
I knew you were gone when you were gone, yet
I sobbed into alleys, begged the gods
for one utterance, a bye a cry a huff
but all I got was dry throat and nods from marble
gods tossing in sky beds. I lack the courage
to tell the others how I walked around
for months with puffy apples, blue eggs,
prayers on grocery store paper begging for the
night to hold
now I smell of soft burnt things, easy conversation
we listen to music and watch as children run in
and out of bushes and backyards, holding shiny
bug candies, soccer-ball shaped chocolates,
flying saucers in their hands
and the fire warps, wraps around slightly-
damp logs and there are frogs by my feet,
I’m working on the trust thing, I’m working
on properly melting these marshmallows in
the heart of the heart of the fire.
shaking hands, coming home covered
in hickory and cashew, bonfire dust
on my clothes, ash on my eyebrows, I’ll
sleep with fire ghosts and think of you
and where you are now, I’ve no clue
there’s a new one, with shawls of clay
stars who bumps shoulders with me in
streets I’ve never been down before,
where couches sit on grass, honeycomb
lights line porches, music spills down the street
I thought no one knew me, I think she’ll
leave, too, and I’ll have to deal with claws
at my chest crying into open spaces, taping
vanilla cigarillo wrappers into my diaries
I knew you were gone when you were gone, yet
I sobbed into alleys, begged the gods
for one utterance, a bye a cry a huff
but all I got was dry throat and nods from marble
gods tossing in sky beds. I lack the courage
to tell the others how I walked around
for months with puffy apples, blue eggs,
prayers on grocery store paper begging for the
night to hold
now I smell of soft burnt things, easy conversation
we listen to music and watch as children run in
and out of bushes and backyards, holding shiny
bug candies, soccer-ball shaped chocolates,
flying saucers in their hands
and the fire warps, wraps around slightly-
damp logs and there are frogs by my feet,
I’m working on the trust thing, I’m working
on properly melting these marshmallows in
the heart of the heart of the fire.
Sam Moe (she/her) is the first-place winner of Invisible City’s Blurred Genres contest in 2022, and the 2021 recipient of an Author Fellowship from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Converse College. Her work has appeared in The Hungry Ghost Project, Overheard Lit mag, Cypress Press, Gone Lawn, The Shore, Yuzu Press, and others.