Three Poems by Kelly Moyer

 

 

La Petite Mort  

 

The moon is softly gazing 

through the darkened  

window into the room  

where her lover lays  

amid the scent of musk 

and tangled bedclothes,  

restless in the pale 

of his stark bare skin. 

She sighs in anticipation, 

appreciating the weight 

of his burden, as erect  

as it is maddening  

in the palm of his hand. 

Her glow intensifies 

in the parting cloudcover, 

growing full alongside 

the insistence of the strokes 

that coax him ever nearer 

a dreamless little death. 

 

 

 

At Last  

 

There’s a raven at the window. 

I’m surprised it’s taken him 

so long to arrive; 

yet, still, he waits patiently, 

so as to not rush or disturb 

this parting kiss. 

 

Why do you cling to the silk 

of my nightie? Chafe 

my dry lips, the hollows 

of my cheeks with the scruff 

of your greying beard? 

 

It is time.  

 

Nevertheless, 

you refuse to release me,  

your knuckles as white  

as they are wet with tears. 

 

I cannot bear the thought 

of him taking me from you. 

 

So, I shall leave this body 

for you to hold as long  

as it serves you; though, 

I am at the window now. 

 

The pane lifts  

from the sill with a moan  

that abates just as  

the night air rushes in.  

 

At last, 

with an exhale,  

I extend my hand  

to meet his wing, 

 

for, yes, I am ready. 

 

 

 

Corvidae 

 

My heart has sprouted  

the wings of a raven, 

for love knows nothing 

of the bluebird’s song. 

 

Nor does it abide wishes  

made on stars and lashes, 

much less tiny discs  

of tarnished copper,  

coyly tossed into a well,  

ripe with the rot of rodents,  

the molt of snakes  

and stagnant black sludge. 

 

Yet, between here  

and the supposed hereafter,  

love stands but stalwart  

in the face of its own demise, 

for it straddles the realms, 

reconciling the dreamers 

with their foolhardy dreams 

and beauty . . .  

with all that is destined to die.

Kelly Moyer is an award-winning poet and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through the cobbled streets of New Orleans’s French Quarter. When not writing or weaving, she is likely to be found wandering the mountains of North Carolina, where she resides with her partner and two philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul. Hushpuppy, her collection of short-form poetry, was recently released by Nun Prophet Press.