TRISHA NELSON

OUR FIRST ISLAND MOONRISE

At sundown on Lanikai Beach,
we join new neighbors, spread our quilt
before an unfamiliar ocean.
Strangers still, island life is lush
with overwhelm.

We clink glasses, applaud
a gleaming curve of moon
that lifts, almost dripping,
from hushed water.
Rounding now, it pauses
to crown the Mokulua Islands.

Batwing clouds skulk across its face,
smudge the crisp night shadows.
Then, the moon slips its shroud,
glides high on lit silk, scatters
sapphires across the sea.

Stirrings begin beneath
conversation’s shallow sand.
Like holes miniature crabs
burrow into the beach,
possibilities open. Full moon
leaves the black felt sky
spattered with stars.

~ Trisha Nelson

A LETTER TO DILLARDS

Hire a boomer to stand
behind your cosmetic counter,

someone who’s not my daughter’s age
with dewy skin and made-up eyes.

Give me a mature woman
who knows what it’s like

to see someone else’s face
in her bathroom mirror, a woman

who has learned to contend
with crow’s feet and cheek creases,

the picket-fence above thinning lips.
Teach us women of the latter decades

how to use those products you sell.
We’ll line up for that make-up session.

Swept to society’s sidelines,
we have wisdom and perspective

and money we’ll spend
discovering how to be

who we are
while looking as fine as we can.

~Trisha Nelson