Two Poems by Michelle Watters

moon goddess moonlights as a suburban housewife

she could be drawing down the moon
but instead she loads the dishwasher
reminds her daughter to do her homework

she has the ability to stop rivers
turn back the wheel of the stars
but today she is going to tackle cleaning the refrigerator

when she closes her eyes during these mundane tasks
she remembers who she is
the gown she once wore made of stars
how the moon smelled like burnt marshmallows

At night when her family is sleeping
she stands outside so the moon can see her.
Her skin shimmers in its fullness

her husband once knew she was a moon goddess but has forgotten
afraid of losing her power
at night she still practices calling the trees to march

when she takes out the trash she closes her eyes
and she is dancing on a comet with the other moon goddesses
she pulls down a star and puts it on her head like a hat
the other moon goddesses open their mouths to laugh
tiny stars spill out and blanket the sky

High School

starve myself until I miss a period
then be convinced I am pregnant

hard-ons push against me and in me
wait until he gets off
so I can get up
clean myself

pinned against a couch
backseat of the car
a wall

as insignificant as a piece of paper
I am a scribble
an ink blot
easily crumpled and tossed

girls hate me because I can’t say no
to their boyfriends
not caring
I swallow pills until my stomach is bloated
throw them up

my mother is jealous of something
I do not want
so easy to lose
shed like old clothing

about the author:

Michelle Watters poetry has appeared in S/tick, Bop Dead City, Red Paint Hill Poetry Journal, Decades Review, Black Heart Magazine, and The Best of The Burlington Writers Workshop Anthology. She is an assistant poetry editor for Mud Season Review. Michelle lives in Shelburne, Vermont with her husband, daughter and two dogs.