Member Poem

She sought the origins of blue-black hair
and almond eyes in Bourbon with ice,

red lipstick and Channel No. 5
resonating through séances, seam ripping
 
and the occasional walk around the block,
or to the ocean, where the whirl of pearl-gray
 
fog whispered of girls left too long in the dark--
and oh how the moon glared at me as it followed
 
close behind, so I held up my arm to block its light,
and grandma said, “the moon is your power,"
 
then faded into the night.