The twenty-eighth Moon Prize on today's full moon goes to Shannon Phillips's poem "Last Call." So few words saying so much. Brilliantly.

Last Call

by Shannon Phillips

Before them—the remnants

of cucumber salad, rice, pita, and yogurt sauce.

There was no meat left. A car race loud

between red lights. Living is easier at night.

The hookah smoke—sweet melon—didn’t dance

like in movies, but she wanted to. Fixate.

He was beautiful; she didn’t think he knew.

She wanted to tell him.

* * * * *

Shannon Phillips is a freelance editor and aspiring translator (Arabic-English) who earned her MFA in creative writing from California State University, Long Beach. She has two chapbooks: Body Parts with dancing girl press and My Favorite Mistake with Arroyo Seco Press. When she isn’t busy reading Nordic noir or letting her tea get cold, she can be found napping with her Russian Blue. She is also the founding editor of Picture Show Press.