Tag Archives: Cassandra Moss

She used to be a Manichean

By Cassandra Moss

So. And it was the way he stood behind her, unpressed, that meant contact was imminent because he looked at her like her mind was invisible, which it was, and she stumbled, her vodka slapping the floor, his hand went to her arm and they, she guesses, moved away and drew closer and really the solid curve of his chest overpowered the solipsism of her days of removal, her voyages to abstraction when she’s an inner imprisoned in an outer imposter that gets mistaken for her, but in the club there was no horror, horror that usually lives in secretions felt on her brain and ministrations inhaled through her eyes, but no as they are now in his room, starlight slathered over black with the moon watching her through the skylight, watching him and her, ogling them together and this, she thinks, is the business of living as she is undoing her buttons, guided by universal direction, a one way, a summoning, cosmic force pushing her towards, splits torn together. Of course, it’s hardly always like this, she hears herself intone in her mother’s voice. But, she thinks, it sure is hard being a dualist when your glands are gaining prominence.


Cassandra Moss was born in Manchester, England. She moved to London to study and subsequently worked in the film and ELT industries. She now lives and writes by the Irish Sea. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals, including 3 am Magazine, Squawk Back, Posit, Sunspot Lit, KAIROS, The Bangalore Review, The Closed Eye Open, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys.

Eve

By Cassandra Moss

Yes I am mired in states – 

emotional and physical – 

and yes I do favour a subdued betrayal 

over a loud one.

But don’t think you can shed your skin for me

and hide amongst the reeds again.

Don’t come over here 

with my memories 

and try to sell them back to me.


Cassandra Moss was born in Manchester, England. She moved to London to study and subsequently worked in the film and ELT industries. She now lives and writes by the Irish Sea. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals, including 3 am Magazine, Squawk Back, Posit, Sunspot Lit, KAIROS, The Bangalore Review, The Closed Eye Open, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys.

Late 80s, mid-afternoon in June

By Cassandra Moss

White shirts and grey trousers and

grey skirts and white blouses

except for you

in navy blue with your knees out,

showing off scabs just about

ripe for picking and scooping.

The heat is everywhere.

All the pale bodies swarm.

You are on the ground

tasting the iron in your blood

because you mistimed your jump.

The boys think of you as one of them, 

which is just as well since you haven’t

the modesty to be deferent.

It’s a curious thing that we can recall

having felt pain but block

its exact feeling from reappearing.

Like I know north-west England is famed for its rain 

yet every school day seems the same –

sunny,

very slowly cooling.


Cassandra Moss was born in Manchester, England. She moved to London to study and subsequently worked in the film and ELT industries. She now lives and writes by the Irish Sea. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals, including 3 am Magazine, Squawk Back, Posit, Sunspot Lit, KAIROS, The Bangalore Review, The Closed Eye Open, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys.