October 3, 2015

Three Poems By Jocelyn Mosman: "Split Molecules, Everywhere", "Scenes From New England", "Neurosis"

Jocelyn Mosman is an English and Politics double major at Mount Holyoke College, but is attending the University of Kent this fall. She was a member of the first ever Northampton Poetry Slam Team and is the recipient of the Gertrude Claytor Award from the Academy of American Poets. She has been published in numerous anthologies and literary magazines and is currently working on her third poetry collection. 

Split Molecules, Everywhere

My subconscious cannot take it anymore.
My mind is racing against my heart,
and neither is making any sense.
I am breaking into shards.
I have to be honest.
I have to be vulnerable.
I have to tell you the truth.


When I see you,
I can handle the world.

When we talk,
all my fears melt away.

You give me confidence
when I have none.

I’m leaving soon
and I’m scared.

There’s this three-part anxiety
I can barely explain.



Leaving means I could lose you.
No footprint behind.
I don’t want to be forgotten.


Leaving means I could lose myself.
Going back to that town…
It will destroy me slowly.


Leaving means I could lose everything.
I can’t say goodbye to it all.
You have to be okay.


My veins can’t take

this pressure.

I become Vesuvius

and erupt.

I can’t protect you

from my imminent disaster.


My mind is spinning
south bound to nowhere.

My heart is racing
as the silence sets in.

We are split molecules, everywhere
and I begin to unravel.  


Please. Don’t. Go.

Scenes from New England

a black cat
ball of nose and mouth and fur

wine and pizza

soft blankets and comfy couches
and no shame sweats

a blue vase on the fireplace
holding ashes

empty beer cans
like crushed remains

the old sunset
over new skies

an abstract painting resembling
Mickey Mouse

blood red canvas
with small black canoe

the empty rocking chair
where he used to sit

the rest of the family,


I am dark matter, white noise.
I can’t fall asleep
in midnight’s unrelenting

The quiet makes
everyone and everything outside
disappear and
I feel alone.

I don’t know how to be alone
without losing my self.
Anxiety sets in
like mist.

I evade shadows,
lose focus as the sun
rises and

Some days,
I can’t keep up.
I need to breathe
but I can’t.

I am trapped
on this blue planet,
silently spinning
through space.

The world I was born into was
a muted scream made audible
in the emergency exit
of my mother’s belly.

I have made 20 revolutions
around a sun
I cannot control,
    a cycling of

waves, planets, bicycles, periods,
This noisy rhythm is dull
against my

The compression of blood
in and out of ventricles
in and out of veins,
    out of me:

like the ocean
washing the beach
after footprints litter
its pristine shoreline;

like the final squeeze
of catsup before it reaches
its sputtering and anticlimactic

like you
sighing, begging me
to stop being
so neurotic.

Each year, a twister
that sweeps me off my feet
day after day,  but I always find
my way home.

I don’t know where home is,
not anymore,
but being here with you
seems right.

The snow is silent as dots
falling from the darkness
of the heavens
onto spindly trees

The world is quiet here,
except the wind
on the window pane,
    and you beside me.

You hold my hand,
our body heat colliding
in the darkness and
    I can’t let go. 

~Jocelyn Mosman

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