Bio Note: I live in a small, light-filled condo in Los Angeles County. In June my long-time job as a legal secretary ended when the law office closed. I am relishing the freedom of open time in which to read, write, draw, swim and walk, while also looking for ways to increase my volunteer commitments to environmental and social justice causes. My most recent chapbook is Cauldron of Hisses (Arroyo Seco Press, 2022).
I just want to move slowly through the day and maybe night when they turn the sprinklers on. I yearn for clouds to manifest in summer’s cerulean unfortunately clear sky. Heaven is a patch of grass nobody dares to walk across because the dogs got there first. I’d like my days to mirror each other into infinitude. Too much to ask, to ooze smoothly along a path I make up as I go?
Originally published in The Ekphrastic Review
Don’t tell anyone where we found abalone, Tom said, guaranteeing I would write it down. Island named for someone whose name meant nothing or never named and therefore ________. Somewhere between ________ and _________ out off the Tongass Narrows are rocky shelves large mollusks crawl, snails easily scooped up at low tide if you don’t spook them. Scare them and they mortar onto rock. The bucket fills despite ongoing glacial movement up its sides. Like us, they’d rather live. Beloved of seagulls, ravens, eagles, otter, mink, they do their best at blending, keep their moist lips – when folded in, so like a woman’s lips – hidden, unkissed, secure. Tell no one where they are.
Originally published in Light: A Journal of Photography & Poetry
©2022 Penelope Moffet
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