Back to Issue Seven.

Tonic for the Gibbous Moon



Down by the Common, there’s tell
of poorly moored boats, a cab lost to drink,
star men, their hands colluding.  I repeat

the large black space like a yawn.  Wind
unzips our coats.  We do not recognize friends
in profile.  Turn your own head; become

uncanny to me.  Drink through your vision
quest.  Show me your face.  The teeth you hate,
that roguish beard.  Lend me your tired mouth

Emily O’Neill is a proud Jersey girl who tells loud stories in her inside voice because she wants to keep you close. Her most recent work is present or forthcoming in Sugar House Review, Weave Magazine, Whiskey Island, Paper Darts, and FRiGG Magazine. She currently edits nonfiction for Printer’s Devil Review. You can pick her brain at