Litany in Praise of Italian Cuisine

"The Divine Tour," poems by Annabelle Moseley

The food I ate in Italy deserves a litany of praise.
An art unto itself, it satisfied so deeply
I expected to rise each morning cured of hunger—
forgetting hunger, like longing, is a ritual.

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The Tuscan Countryside

"The Divine Tour," poems by Annabelle Moseley

Drive as a passenger through Tuscany,
and even if you squint
or fall asleep, but catch brief glances
through curtained blinks,

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Da Vinci’s Drawing

"The Divine Tour," poems by Annabelle Moseley

In the Venetian Accademia,
I stood quietly
before a study of flowers—
their bends and curls precise,
examined.

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As We Walk the Land We’ve Tilled along the Coast

The Fish Has Swallowed Earth, poems by Annabelle Moseley

You pick lemon basil off the stem— / feed me green beans wet with dew.

In the center of our garden, / there is a fish sculpture of adobe.

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Daphne

The Fish Has Swallowed Earth, poems by Annabelle Moseley

I was too aware of my freedom— / the taste of summer in my mouth,
and sun on my nakedness. / I did not recognize that same light
when he rose to meet me. / Or did I? Is that why I ran?

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My Latest Goddess

The Fish Has Swallowed Earth, poems by Annabelle Moseley

Today I will be Phragmites, the many-bodied,
pale reeds lifting skyward
from the scalp of Tiana Bay.

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Unearthing Jupiter: A Crown For A Slave

Annabelle Moseley's "The Clock of the Long Now" front cover

For giving voice to slavery’s strangled cries,
Just dig for his lost words, stitched in the loam—
Under red roots… between white alibis—
Patterned in clay, the fossils of each poem

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The Sea Cave of My Mother

Annabelle Moseley's "The Clock of the Long Now" front cover

When I was young, after my father died,
I sometimes longed to burrow down, and sleep
inside my mother’s womb, where I could hide
within my life-source, cradled in the deep—

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