Domestic Noir II by Jennifer Moore

My hands are simple as mice
and harnessed to a body of straw.
The cup you fell into
fell into silence.

To the thimble, the thumb is enormous;
to the thumb, the thimble is snug.
We’re uneasy
in the spaces we inhabit.

Hey, closet: I dare you to keep
all those secrets.
From the gutter of your wooden sea fly
the moths who run their mouths

all over town—wing-beat,
dust light, too too close.
Shut the door to this room,
empty as a sling enfolding no bone.
Jennifer Moore is the author of The Veronica Maneuver (The University of Akron Press). Her poems have appeared in DIAGRAM, American Letters & Commentary, Best New Poets, The Cincinnati Review, and elsewhere. She is an assistant professor of creative writing at Ohio Northern University and lives in Bowling Green, Ohio.