Photography © Edward S. Gault
Dad’s Recipe for a Blood Moon
Breathing into my spine, I see the lamp is orange,
the shade found in the moon on some
nights. Dad told me her name is Missy,
she wore glimmering red shoes and sung
so beautifully that the moon snatched her. People
say you can still hear her voice in the late hours,
when the blood moon is at its fullest and
swollen. But the fan is whirring so loudly and
I am focused on the potent scent of nicotine
between my pointer and middle fingers
mixed with the chills of the hardwood floor.
The lamp starts to flicker and my stomach feels
like its acid is gnawing on me. This sudden
darkness is filled with only static, only the end
of the day, only the end of her song.
Abigail Cain (she/he/they) is a writer from Appalachia. She is a fish girl: something cryptid and swallowed whole. He spends his days as a student and their free time by the river enjoying the more beautiful things.
Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine arts photographer living in Brighton, Massachusetts. His work has appeared in Oddball Magazine, Spectrum, Wilderness House Literary Review, Interlude, Currents, and Encore. His poetry collection, Airhead and Other Poems was published this year by Read and Green Books.