Kelly Cressio-Moeller
Between Fog and Ash
1.
This November, veiled pines in fog’s green hair—
I make an altar of tiger eye, citrine, smoky quartz,
carnelian, gather a small fire of maple leaves.
No rituals can stop transitions:
a dear fig tree sheds sooty leaves, the final
writing retreat, anniversary of my eldest son
nearly dying—his brain still cradles an errant nest.
Be Here Now.
I’m reminded while ever-steering mental
U-turns towards the present. On rough days and months,
it helps to survive the specter I did not see striding a mile
down the road despite its neon cape and thigh-high glitter boots.
2.
Last October, my younger son’s teacher dropped
in her classroom from a heart attack. Set to retire
in the summer after 40 years of service. She lingered
in a coma for weeks, circled by a forest
of visitors—her family grateful to learn
how beloved she was.
At the funeral, her photo wreathed with offerings
—fruit and yellow flowers—we waited to bow
before her, scattered a spoonful of incense
into the burning bowl of white ash.
Kelly Cressio-Moeller is a poet and visual artist. Her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes, Best New Poets, and Best of the Net, appearing widely in journals including North American Review, Salamander, THRUSH Poetry Journal, Water~Stone Review, and ZYZZYVA. She lives in Northern California. “Shade of Blue Trees” (Two Sylvias Press) is her first poetry collection. For more poetry and art, visit www.kellycressiomoeller.com
Return to November 2024 Edition
1.
This November, veiled pines in fog’s green hair—
I make an altar of tiger eye, citrine, smoky quartz,
carnelian, gather a small fire of maple leaves.
No rituals can stop transitions:
a dear fig tree sheds sooty leaves, the final
writing retreat, anniversary of my eldest son
nearly dying—his brain still cradles an errant nest.
Be Here Now.
I’m reminded while ever-steering mental
U-turns towards the present. On rough days and months,
it helps to survive the specter I did not see striding a mile
down the road despite its neon cape and thigh-high glitter boots.
2.
Last October, my younger son’s teacher dropped
in her classroom from a heart attack. Set to retire
in the summer after 40 years of service. She lingered
in a coma for weeks, circled by a forest
of visitors—her family grateful to learn
how beloved she was.
At the funeral, her photo wreathed with offerings
—fruit and yellow flowers—we waited to bow
before her, scattered a spoonful of incense
into the burning bowl of white ash.
Kelly Cressio-Moeller is a poet and visual artist. Her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes, Best New Poets, and Best of the Net, appearing widely in journals including North American Review, Salamander, THRUSH Poetry Journal, Water~Stone Review, and ZYZZYVA. She lives in Northern California. “Shade of Blue Trees” (Two Sylvias Press) is her first poetry collection. For more poetry and art, visit www.kellycressiomoeller.com
Return to November 2024 Edition