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.

Subscribe to the Poem-a-Day Podcast 

  

“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