Addison Moore

SUMMER PROGRAMMING DIRECTOR

Addison Moore is a writer born and raised in Cynthiana, Kentucky.

Her work has been previously published in FEMSzine out of Boston, MA, and she is known for her chapbook "BEAST & other creatures that live with the trees". She is a Kentucky Governor’s School for the Arts Creative Writing and Indiana University Slam Camp alumni.

She first got involved with Boyd’s Station as a student in the 2020 SHOW & TELL program, and now serves as a Creative Director for SHOW & TELL and Paint the Town | Mural Camp at Boyd’s Station Gallery.

She currently attends Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, NY and plans to major in English.

2020 SHOW & TELL

IN NEUTRAL

here, engines rev like heartbeats

the boys line their trucks up in street lit parking lots

and we wait for an invitation

we wait to become one of the boys

and by become one of the boys I mean

maybe we get to sit in their passenger seats

get to stick our hands out the window, float on air

while he drives, maybe one day we’ll fit in

and by fit in I mean will never be able to win this race

becoming one of the boys means knowing

the rules burrowed inside tradition

as if they’re written in your skin

like never let your girlfriend drive you

change the song when she starts to sing

keep your hunting rifle under the seat

take the wheel while I send this text

like maybe this is love, or at least need

maybe sitting in his passenger seat is what

being wanted feels like

backroads spread across this county like veins

that we know as if they live inside our own bodies

the boys drive too fast

wear seatbelts when they want to

do anything if they want to

we are driving too fast across the one lane bridge

and stop in the tunnel to hear the echo

by stop I mean he won’t stop drifting when I ask him to

maybe part of being a boy is only listening to yourself

what I am trying to say

is that I never liked holding hands with the steering wheel

or being choked by the seatbelt at the stop sign

maybe I didn’t have a choice

what else is there to do here?

by tradition I mean this is what they’ve always done

my mother in 1988 in a passenger’s seat

my grandfather as one of the boys

buying bottles of beer, rolling them down the hill

by tradition I mean they drive overtop of the roadkill

so often they don’t stop to think about what animal it was

like maybe these backroads are meant to be stained with blood

SUMMER WITHOUT A POOL

i was always farm girl 

but not 

rolling in grass

bug bitten

sunburnt

this year was not country club

no dipping manicured toes

into the blue 

no chlorine broken hair

summer without a pool 

was so hot

that the air went stale

and the grass went brown

even the city girls would pant

i never liked the water

but that summer i wished for

rain 

I can’t think about summer without thinking about the farm and everything that comes with it. Kentucky summers mean rolling hills, the lush green grass of my backyard, and my godfather’s garden in full bloom. It also means that for a while I am completely immersed in the only world I used to know as home. With the mew of the cows as they’re separated, and my grandfather’s “whoooooop” to call the horses in for the night becoming my siren calls. I never thought that this life was exactly what was meant for me, but whether or not I like it, I was breaded and fried in everything Kentucky. My grandfather was a tenant farmer, so once he was able to own his own farm it became his pride and joy. My father grew up equating summer with the sweat dripping from his forehead as he worked in the tobacco fields, setting and stripping. Deep in my roots, the farm is what I know. Truly, the farm is what I love and find peace in. Kentucky summers may mean bug bites and barns, but they also mean bluegrass, and beauty.

THE FIRST EGG

we are waiting

for the hens to lay.

everyday they drink in the sun,

and their apple cider vinegar water,

and we judge

the size of their cones,

their sitting, squatting, submission.

we say Exxy will be first,

but Betty and her barred feathers

always lead the brood,

but what about Josh?

we listen to their clucks, their cries

laying your first egg must be scary.

when no one is there to show you how to do it.

these pubescent birds are living in my backyard

and I don’t know how to help.

what’s it like to grow into a girl

completely on your own?