poetry by emily moon

Open as Purple

I am open as purple
magnolias in May,

a spiral of petals
of indeterminate number,

an elegant blossom
bursting with extravagance,

sweet as the honey
of nostalgia. Storms blow,

yet, I grow
in this northern clime,

climb from the compost
of my past. Ease into

this new body,
comfortable in my skin

at last. Bright
as lightning flash, my

gender display shouts
things I could never say,

My Grandfather’s Last Vision

There’s a house on a hill.
It’s just after dark.

Seven steps lead up
to a blank wall.

There are seven rooms
in the house.

Brilliant light shines
through all the windows.

All the lights are on.
Nobody’s home.

In each room,
is a hot cup of coffee

and a chair.
They are waiting. 

Emily Moon (she/her) is a transgender poet from Portland, ORE. She is an editor at First Matter Press. Her book It’s Just You and Me, Miss Moon, was published by First Matter Press prior to taking on an editorial role. Her work includes appearances in or is forthcoming from, Anti-Heroin Chic, Pile Press, Hecate Magazine, and Firefly Review.