3 poems by K. S. Moore

    When seaweed is Medusa’s hair

    the powder for her wig

    is salt, a menacing grind

    of dried out sea-spray.


    Mint, the finished colour,

    lies in trails on crusted sand; we

    feel it safe to step on a tendril,

    pricking of granite in our pores.


    Rain will put the hiss

    in this tangle; snake-skin

    recovering sheen,

    tongues meeting drop.


    Andromeda


    Before they placed you in the sky,

    you were already stitched from stars . . .


    Star of grace: more lustre than light,

    outshining a dangerous rival.


    Star of hope: you shivered alone, water

    a lapping ghost at your heels.


    Star of a saviour: he wielded a sword,

    sharper than each crested wave.


    Stars uncrossed: you linked up, fell

    in love with your slayer of monsters,


    buried their heads as you lifted your

    own; cheek to cheek to a night dance.


    Sandstone Hands


    I wash my sandstone hands in the sea,

    counter their heat with icy surf,

    but the red has seeped deeper, settles

    in the gaps between knuckles, travels

    in dotted pain


    to a place where my heart beats full and bloody,

    pounds every step, every household task,


    and I wonder if water is only a liquefied version

    of sun, burns and brands as much as it cleanses,

    makes me detest my own skin.


    _________


    K. S. Moore's poetry has recently appeared in New Welsh Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Honest Ulsterman, Boyne Berries, The Stinging Fly and Southword. Shortlists have included: Trim Poetry Competition, Americymru West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition and Blog Awards Ireland. K. S. Moore shares poetry and other thoughts at ksmoore.com.