The Moon Is in Labor
At least she’s pretending to be,
in sisterly solidarity.
It’s not a joke, but the whole
world’s taking it badly. Meanwhile
I sit here pretending to be a flame
in a thrown bottle. I pretend
that curved horns grow out of my ears
when I hear of injustices. And
meanwhile like the faint cigar
lights of the darkened
lounges where world leaders
fraternize, the moon’s light glows
then fades. Her labor proves to be,
well, laborious. Mine was too,
although this poem burst forth
from my brain like a boot
or a god: furious.
Copyright © 2023 by Gail Wronsky. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 24, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem began on a night when I was feeling particularly powerless—as a woman, as a poet—when I felt I wasn’t creating anything that would make the world more just. Then I looked at the full moon and saw her as a pregnant woman: full of creative power and potential. This vision made me imagine myself as an activist (‘a flame / in a thrown bottle’) while imagining our leaders hiding behind cigar smoke. In the end, I don’t know whether the moon will give birth to something miraculous. But I’ve given birth—to the poem, to a more radical voice.”
—Gail Wronsky
Gail Wronsky
