In the dark they called me Moonshine.
That liquor in a glass jar.
Holy water.
They baptized me in hogwash
made in someone’s basement’s rusty sink.
Moonshine they say.
Not the boozy white reflection
on a wrinkled black lake.
Moonshine.
Back alleys.
The kind you shout mistakes at
Your footsteps echo in the rain
Someone pees in the corner.
I could be the summer sunrise
The painted lake
Gulls in the sky.
My own name.
But I’m stuck as the hooch.
Eva Moe 