Current Features

Featured Reader

Kelly Cressio-Moeller
 

Virtual Event on November 9th, 2021–6:00 P.M to 8:00 P.M.

Live stream available on our YouTube Channel!

Kelly Cressio-Moeller

Kelly Cressio-Moeller is a poet and visual artist. Her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes, Best New Poets, and Best of the Net, and have appeared widely in journals and at literary websites including Gargoyle, North American Review, Poet Lore, Salamander, THRUSH Poetry Journal, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Water~Stone Review, and ZYZZYVA, among others. An associate editor at Glass Lyre Press, she lives in the Bay Area with her husband, two sons, and their basset hound. “Shade of Blue Trees” from Two Sylvias Press is her first poetry collection.

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER

Darkness does not hunger for anything.
It has everything it needs. The ribs
of shadows are fat with secrets
of the living and the dead. It never
wallows in loneliness. Never says
leave a message for me if you can.
It doesn’t care about your tongue
of honey and stars; your breath
of apples and wine. It’s busy
quilting corners of indifference
and will return again and again.
As you go from room to room
cloaking your mirrors for winter,
let the coldness you feel at the nape
move in like fog, shawling you
in her gown of gray beads—listen
when she whispers: If you are patient,
your eyes will adjust to the dark.

Kelly Cressio-Moeller
from “Shade of Blue Trees” (Two Sylvias Press, 2021)

PORTENT WITH MOONSET & BLACKBIRDS

For a long time I wanted
              to drink a cup of winter,
                          to become tipsy on early
                                       dark & longer starshine.

The thinning light
               my favorite ether.
                         These days I am uncertain, dead
                                      reckoning my way through—

surrendering to mystery
              & surprise of mapless navigation.
                        That fistful of blackbirds
                                      thrown across my wind-

shield? I don’t know what
              their flurried wingbeats
                        were trying to tell me;
                                       not every moment

is a teacher, in the same way patience
             does not mean measured inaction.
                        I’m only a woman who con-
                                       tinues to bury her dead—

wearing a clenched jaw that expects
             diamond dust from crown crush;
                        shoulders that ride so high on worry,
                                       they mistake themselves for wings.

I’ve never liked what I was
             called, even though
                        my father named me
                                       & my name in his voice

was the last word I’d hear
             him speak. Last night,
                        I went to bed feeling hope-
                                       less & profoundly lonely.

I left the curtains open wide.
            Sleep plowed a ragged field of un-
                        even rows—but in the morning’s
                                      early darkness, the fullest moon

poured its cool, bewitching light
            into the small bowls of my room & garden.
                        As it hung impossibly low over
                                      the Pacific, I drank & drank.

                                     Kelly Cressio-Moeller
                                     from “Shade of Blue Trees” (Two Sylvias Press, 2021)