Ruminations on Summertime

By Sam Moe

Raw 

We break up  

an otherwise quiet  

field of wildflowers, you  

with seeds on your  

tongue while wolves  

watch, tickled by  

the edges of spiky  

blackberry bushes, please  

don’t tell me stories  

about my past  

you think you’re so  

clever, just because  

I told you how much I 

hated my mother, just  

because you weren’t  

there, doesn’t mean  

you’ll ever get the full  

story from me.  

he was too big  

for my story and his  

car was stolen like  

the mean things you  

said to me in a dream  

I’m protecting you, now  

you don’t deserve it  

you’re good at hurting  

other people, but soon  

I’m going to leave you  

there’s nothing like  

running away, stealing  

your fangs, they’ll find  

blood soaked into all my  

poems, the cigarette  

you thought you’d properly  

tossed, I saved it for  

my junk journal, heaven  

knows you’d say we  

tried, but then I lost  

my mind, and other lies  

you tell yourself so you  

can sleep at night.  

darling, I won’t let you  

down. I’m leaving our  

legacy behind.  

Soft cotton dress and messy  

bangs, your new lover  

walks into the center of  

the field. I raise my  

hand to say hi but the  

wolves mistake my  

meaning; 

now, all that’s  

left are her bones 

and you go home alone 

even though I said sorry. 

my regards, as you

would say; I was only

acting on instinct.

---

Off to the Races 

Night sticky from mayflies, semi-translucent, 

Green beetles, but you’re so far away. 

And I have so much energy at sunset. 

And I’m not the only one. 

Speed an hour or more, curving streets 

Passing for large, warmed snakes,  

I almost break my neck with hunger. 

Looking for his bright blue, electric 

Light, that’s not a metaphor but if you want 

One, you can come and get it. But 

Only if you’re being a good horse. Come, 

Free yourself from her stables, she left 

Ages ago, why is her name still on your 

Tongue, why do you deny sugar cubes, don’t 

You care about my jaw? The new bedroom 

Is dim, save for two small orange lights, the man 

Tells me his theme is “rivers,” and within ten 

Minutes, maybe less, your name stumbles 

Out of my mouth. The man laughs, takes me 

To bed regardless. Still, you. Undressing, 

Dreaming about your uniform, you, hidden 

In the back of the house. Sauvignon blanc 

Pairs well with your dreams, your cream 

Reduction, love a lattice of lace, crisp demi- 

Glace on a nine-ounce question, would you 

Hate me if I told you my hips and hands 

Never forgot, would you regret me if I 

Relapsed, please, saunter over here. Judge us. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his 

Head in-between, thought he’d get the job  

Done, thought I heard you preferred chestnuts 

And how she used to, but would you 

Hate me for his whispers? A riverbed of 

Contradictions, no lie, he has overfilled 

My mind where you’ve drilled holes, I know. 

Love, you hate, you know more about me 

Because I unspooled beneath your porch, 

I need the dogs to come back home, I need 

A minute, I need to transform, you can go 

On. Everything is fine. I can pretend. Don’t you 

Wish these monsteras were yours, spider plant 

Hanging low, truthfully, I didn’t lie. Honestly. 

I told him why my legs don’t work, he called 

Me a name I’ve only reserved for you. Baby, I 

Can’t wade all the way into the water 

Without your skin against mine. That night 

When wind knocked loose lampposts, you 

Helped me rise, no effort, you have the same 

Lifelines as me, I want you to kill the way 

His tongue moved, a horseshoe, a racetrack, 

Screw up his teeth in the way I know only you 

Can, take his place at the starting line, he’s 

Met a woman who looks exactly like me, he’s

Inviting us over, don’t get your reigns twisted,

You can still have what you’ve wanted.

---

Sam Moe is the winner of the Barbara DiBernard Prize for her third short story collection, forthcoming from Zero Street Press (University of Nebraska) in 2027. She has attended the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, Longleaf Writer’s Conference, and the Key West Literary Seminar. She has also received residencies at VCCA, The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow, and Château d’Orquevaux. She is currently querying an Ecuadorian Gothic novel.

Follow Sam on Instagram, X, Bluesky and Threads: @SamAnneMoe

Photographer credit: Adelynn Brantley