Breakfast with Mom and Sister – October 15 2017

This morning while having breakfast, my mom and sister asked about my poetry book.
“What even is a poetry book?” My sister asked. So I pulled a bunch of books off the shelf in my bedroom and returned to the kitchen. I pulled Pablo Neruda, Buddy Wakefield, Shel Silverstein, Robert Louis Stevenson.
Then I showed them Rupi Kaur’s book “Milk and Honey”.
“This one is a New York Times bestseller,” I said.
“Maybe that will be you!” Mom said.
My mom honestly thinks that I’ll finally have money if I publish a book. Like all it will take is one publication, then I’ll be famous and the dough will roll right in. LOL MOM NO.

In Response to Housman

I to my perils
came not like A.E. Housman
“clad in armor by stars benign”
I swam to them in my PJs
hair kinked, water logged
and trouble was a bonfire.

Trouble was the thing he kept his mind on huh
Trouble was the thing he took to supermarkets
hoping This was the day
right by the spinach
he could be a true and worthy victor
‘cause his mind was in the game.
did he want to prove himself stronger than us
the mortals who wished for everything sweet

I wished too hard for time to pass
and passing is the great gift and curse of prickly knees.
I tugged myself through marshes by tufts of leg hair
to which I gleamed a shining eye to Hope
I’d not trifle with a fleeting love
or luck money or mock fame.
Turns out every part of me is mortal fool
and Housman took a solo trip to the legends.

Moonshine – draft

in the dark they called me Moonshine
liquor in a glass jar
and the boozy white reflection
of the full moon
on obsidian lakes.
they dub me after back alleys
and a cold view from the docks.
i give them poisoned comfort
i pour pure life into their lungs
before they jump
into chilly water
my dear friends.



you are warmer than fever in
me that was
the wing-ed beast
of legend in
me for
a moment that soft
every where I felt
it was how light
is so fast and
blind to itself.

my body is made
from cheese
I’m cheesy.
In part one of this poem I feel
how light
is so genuine
and fluid
when I’m done
with part one
I’m part two
not shadow
or darkness
I am exactly the myth of the moon
how it’s made of cheese.
How maybe the man on the moon
wishes he were
the man on the moon.

Rejection Letter

Rejection is a red dodgeball
lodged in your gut.
Unless you’re a writer.
Then it’s just Tuesday.

This year I entered the 2017 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship competition and was rejected. But ho! I just received a delightful email from them. As far as rejection letters go, this one’s pretty damn good.

Dear Eva Moe,

Thank you for participating in the 2017 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship competition. The work you submitted was superior, with the result that you were placed among a small group of finalists selected from over 2100 applications. Your poems were read and reread with great admiration by our selection committee.

We were very impressed by the high level of accomplishment evident in your poems, which makes it very difficult to have to say that, after careful consideration of all the excellent finalists, you have not been chosen as a recipient for one of this year’s awards. We strongly encourage you to apply again next year if you’ll still be eligible then.

It was a genuine pleasure reading and thinking about your poems, and all of us wish you the very best.


Don Share
Editor, POETRY

I wonder how close I came to being a finalist? Was I top 50? Top 30? Either way, I made it past multiple cuts. And even though I didn’t make the finals, this letter is still going to be printed out and placed on my wall.