Kelly Cressio-Moeller

Southern Gothic

Sweet mother of pearl and all things holy but that man jellied her bones – left her higher than the tall grass of their coupling. Satyr. Bourboned hoof prints tattooed across summer skin. How was she to know? 3 Xs on his bare-chested bullseye: buried treasure, barmaid kisses, crosshairs. No matter which, they left their mark. A bullet for each of them. Powder burns formed cul-de-sacs of a triangle. Scalene. No sides equal. Ventricles gave way like levees his father engineered. Poets & suicide. It’s been done before. That death was mine! Go on then. Git gone. Sometimes a woman needs to take to her bed. Burying a lover shook loose her stars. Some yonder-eyed gaze no longer her own. The offset jaw. A cindered lament. She continued down lost roads. Planted a curved wall of bamboo, grew a headful of words. Sylvan light filtered June ­– remains.

Kelly Cressio-Moeller’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Southern Humanities Review, Pearl, Switched-on Gutenberg, Pirene’s Fountain, Margie: The American Journal of Poetry, Newport Review, and the Aurorean. She lives and writes in Northern California.