month there is an additional Moon Prize,
the 72nd. It was donated anonymously by a prior Moon Prize winner, and it
goes to Kari Gunter-Seymour's poem "I Come From A Place So Deep Inside America It Can’t Be Seen."
I Come From A Place So Deep
Inside America It Can’t Be Seen
by Kari Gunter-Seymour
White oaks thrash, moonlight drifts
the ceiling, as if I’m under water.
Propane coils, warms my bones.
Gone are the magics and songs,
all the things our grandmothers buried–
piles of feathers and angel bones,
inscribed by all who came before.
When I was twelve, my cousins
called me ugly, enough to make it last.
Tonight a celebrity on Oprah
imagines a future where features
can be removed and replaced
on a whim. A moth presses wings
thin as paper against my window,
more beautiful than I could ever be.
Ryegrass raise seedy heads
beyond the bull thistle and preen.
Everything alive aches for more.
* * * * *
"I Come From A Place So Deep Inside America It Can’t Be Seen" was first published in
Anthology of Appalachian Writers, Volume XII, and is part of Kari Gunter-Seymour’s poetry collection A Place So Deep Inside America It Can’t Be Seen (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions 2020).