TWO POEMS

BRIGHDE MOFFAT

HYACINTH

.
It was said that I
tripped.

Bruised cheekbone,
a purple-yellow hill of hyacinth. Just after
the first big bloom.

Held tight to the stem
little fingers uncurl
to stroke the tired air.

.

.

A BRUISE TOO SWEET

.
And I said I had fallen.

………………………………………Rolling in the bitter earth, a bruise
………………………………………too sweet to enjoy.

Fat drops of rain. White spores on a shrinking fist. An infection borne down into the cells.

………………………………………Fruits, those organ shapes, piled on the roadside.
………………………………………Young bodies, a waste inedible.

What kind of burial is this?

“Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.”

BRIGHDE MOFFAT is the editor-in-chief of Hematopoiesis, an editorial assistant at VIDA Review, and a poetry reader at Anomaly. Their work has appeared in The Rumpus, Autostraddle, Nat. Brut, and Stirring.