Trevor Moffa is a poet and former coal miner, park ranger, bookseller, and sandwich artist from Pittsburgh, PA. He helps as a reader for Chestnut Review, and his poems earned an Honorable Mention in the 2020 Francine Ringold Award for New Writers. Recent work published in Nimrod International Journal, Roanoke Review, Chautauqua, Sleet, and Paperbark.
There’s nothing greener than grass except the untended weeds, bristling, poking in a brittle way at the world around their envy. Except nothing’s green that’s not painted or plastic. It won’t rain. The grass is on edge. There’s no greed like the rooted seeds’ for water. I walk guarded among them like one accused. Like each passing day, the blades… Read more →
I don’t gamble much, but the mine struck me as casino- ish. Nobody ends up there accidently, there’s no windows, there’s no clocks, every last machine beeps and flashes, every last light’s strategically placed and in between it’s unsettling dark. I saw a bird underground once, and a mushroom under a beltline that dripped a chemical composition evidently nutritious enough… Read more →