J.L. Moultrie

Pop Music or False Sense of Well-Being

We drove to the beach after the house fire I sang in the

back seat afterwards my sister said I was good but the

sight of water only magnified my grief I still leapt in the

river I remember the cool blast of air in the hotel lobby

my nephew was afraid of the elevator so we ran upstairs

the fire left a gaping aperture in the ceiling what is this

place that calls me with no name?

Atonement

We were evicted in the spring excavated myself at

expanded seams wore masks long after Halloween

passed I didn’t want to enter the night but we did

and trekked to my aunt’s house to bathe for hot water

eluded our faucets none of my angst resulted in catharsis

I bummed a ride from strangers in middle school the

metal detectors beeped as we passed through these

intervals warped me as driftwood states of mind caught

like branches in vines distended shadows bloom tomb

adjacent moments like tense twine

High school was left unattended stealing tissue from library

stalls caused shame that tasted like mulberries the staff refused

to ask questions each day of summer scalding water rode city

buses until being hoarded into classes the teenage laughter

crass our lives a brief searching gaze

Ideation Spell

The path tolled beneath my skin against

silent factories revelation provided no

amnesty my ancestry pined for rain’s break

resisted taking shape as long as I was

able on the cusp of knowing the tender

myth of forgetting shame opaque at best

I couldn’t fake being human much more

Epitaph

Shelter of the past my birth a gilding

of my mother’s throat remembering the

cobalt mornings her waking me up to

pee in a cup my sense of safety standing

water those summers I spent as a boy

some foreign force keeping me alive staring

at the sky the clouds are in mourning I’m able to

look in the mirror

at brown illusory eyes trusting only

what’s not seen I could not glean much

from the pain she hardly spoke and read thick

romance novels we live in a hovel

staying sane was reading green eggs and ham I find

being who I am stifling I’m wearing shorts

running in the balmy summer the sharp flowers of the field

drew blood but I don’t feel it

the rain keeps me inside only love

can pry the doors open only love

J.L. Moultrie is a native Detroiter, poet and fiction writer who communicates his craft through words. He fell in love with literature after encountering James Baldwin, Hart Crane and many others. He considers himself a modern, abstract expressionist.