Sam Moe
Thinking Again
In the bird room again, scared, knife in hand, there’s something wrong with the pelicans, the way the pigeons turn pale blue when you enter the room, how many times do we have to do this, took my heart out of my chest during dinner and you swiped it off the table, promised you floating and pink feathers, no more talking, no more feeding human ghosts to the jays, you called me an owl and I never got over it, this isn’t about finches or loons or love, this is about the time you touched my hand and I turned into a bundle of oak leaves, I am on the sill and you are hanging out in the house of swans, your partner frequently turns into an albatross in the evening but you tell me you don’t mind, I’m just a poor, scared, bleeding thing, I’ve lost feeling in my hands and wrists, want to talk to you about scar tissue but the words turn into seabirds and swifts, the blade is a thing of the past, I wonder if this will last, I need to know if you’re warblers or thrushes or quails or crushes, I need electric rings around the spruce grouse closet, want to get lost in your roses, berries, jade, flamingo and peace, I have needs that don’t make sense, I have a drill for a mouth and still I crave nectar, but what does it matter, tried to tell you earlier but you were too busy cracking seeds for her in the sun room.
Sam Moe
Sam Moe 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 and her chapbook Grief Birds is forthcoming from Bullshit Lit in April ’23. Her full-length Cicatrizing the Daughters is forthcoming from FlowerSong Press.