Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
momma smelled eternally of
witch hazel and snuff
when i was just a bairn
she would whisper tales
of the earth
wooden spoon
slick with tomato soup
and dripping
she would say “lydia darlin’
do not venture into the horizon forest
for it keeps all things
and ponders them
in its heart
there, every hate swells
to an epic kind
of wind
you would become
foreign
a stranger to this world
nothing more than atoms
of a forgotten life”
sitting there the warmth of an unseen fire
against my skin
i listened to momma’s stories
our wickory home seemed to be
only a backdrop for eternity
and i could sense something greater
at night
tucked tightly underinto the quilts
i dreamt of words spoken into
infinite space
but each sunrise
the dust of a new day
devoured the memories
i felt a waking absence
the mysteries of the stars
kept locked away in my soul
when the storms came
momma held me close
it seemed to me
that she could always
smell the rain
before it fell
now that momma
is gone
when the storms come
i tell myself
“i am not afraid of storms
the thunder ignites me”
i think now
momma is the absence
in my soul
she once housed
the wildest of rivers
the water was
afraid to touch her
now
like the stars
she is ash and dust
and i shall keep her mysteries
in my heart