IRINA MOGA

BEACHHEAD

Prose poem by Irina Moga; drawing by Tatiana Arsénie 

The moon behind your shadow: a windmill of clouds, fragmented.

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It feels as if I have come ashore after a long absence, trekking through green algae and inverted flower capsules.

You are here: I’ve reached the beachhead of your presence.

​

~~~

This poem was originally published in the online literary magazine Les Femmes Folles edited in Nebraska. 

OLD HOUSE

Prose poem by Irina Moga; drawing by Tatiana Arsénie 

There was the time we spent together: time made of puffed up silences, suspended - just like the branches of the trees and the effaced gambrel of the roof.

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Eroded shapes, bearing the brunt of our words; salty marshes in the distance, closing in on the sea that we knew would be a possible exit.

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An old house, with boarded up windows and doors and creaking baseboards; tiny pieces of sand dollars nestled between rusted hinges and locks.

But there was no immediate sea, of course.

~~~

This poem was originally published in the online literary magazine Les Femmes Folles edited in Nebraska.