Pregnant by the moon, I shoo him away from my windowsill.

I don’t tell him it’s whiskey in this Dixie cup

I don’t tell him I never go to the grocery

I don’t tell him I threw away all the oranges,

still ripe, still good.

Voyeurism is illegal in the Midwest, I remind the moon,

while my belly grows. You’re little, you’re small he calms my fear

I don’t tell him sometimes I want the sun

or where I hide my cash.


He is perfect –He does all the moon things:

Waxes, wanes, reads non-fiction


I don’t tell him my skin is too slick to hold.


Erica Anderson-Senter lives and writes in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Pieces have appeared in Specter and Ex. Ex. Midwest. Her chapbook, seven days now, was published by The Dandelion Review. Erica hosts free literary events throughout her city to bring art to the public. She finished her MFA in Creative Writing in 2016 through the Writing Seminars at Bennington College in Bennington, Vermont.