• Julie Grace

Cashew Moon

Really pleased that my poem, "Cashew Moon," is being featured on Remembered Arts Journal's weekly edition this week. Check it out here or read below.


Cashew Moon

The moon is a cashew tonight,

hanging low like the loose strand

of a mobile over a crib—

and driving the dark road

I am the infant

cradled by outlines of trees,

median reflectors shimmering,

headlights hiding in the distance.

I keep turning back

to watch it,

the nut moon,

the lunatic moon,

the synonymous fool—

hanging there,

hopelessly extending yellow light

to what can only exist in darkness.

There were crevices in my heart

the morning I was born

already waiting for that first night

in which to begin secreting

the soft sheen of breaking mobile strings,

the places light can never seem to reach.

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