Theology of Moods

I.

one layer
of paint,
then another,
and another,
and another,
until I reach
the room’s center.

the moods perch in the soggy
just-gone glances in the still-wet corners.

II.

a boneset stem passes
through its leaves,
middle-stuck. datura’s sickly indole
lazes in the throat. wasn’t that prune juice
rebranded
as Plum Nectar?

III.

a frog can’t choose — it’s always semi-porous
and Superfunded by whoever’s green
god got kickbacks
three rainy seasons ago.
me, I’m always caught
mid-metamorph —

IV.

tell me again
about the planting of fig trees
on the vineyards,
to please away the birds
from the grapes.

ξ

Emily Moline is a poet and language curriculum designer with a PhD in Linguistics from the University of California, Davis. Recent poems have appeared in Written Here: Poems from the Community of Writers and Everything in Aspic. When she isn't writing or thinking about how to teach Zulu, she's working on her Muay Thai kicks and daydreaming about making her own perfume. She lives in Oakland, CA. Find her on Twitter @underarching.