luna

i am inside of

my old house, and

my grandmothers, tame and unified,

guide me as i give birth in the tub

their hair

fell around me in

miles of wild tresses

i tried to clutch at

their sterling braids and

i bit down on them

those wiry strands got

stuck between my teeth like

rope

they join hands, holding my hands

flames erupt

from my throat, and

they smiled

with their wide, flaring nostrils

and wrinkled skin

clinging tight around their

tired, beady eyes

i vaguely wonder

about this bloody tableau

(is this a nightmare?)

my girl is born:

she rips

out of me and

into the world

like a comet

—bawling

and

squealing

a damp, fat, healthy cherub

with wet wisps

of sticky blonde curls

on her mostly bald scalp

squirming under

the quiet, lambent moon

my daughter searches

for answers

she won’t

receive

in my waning expression

as she hovers

—bathed in the mysterious, pale light

my dead grandmothers carry on

a close to celestial crooning

at the backs

of their throats—a collective, continuous hum

my daughter,

Luna is what i decided to name her,

does not

look to me

like i am weak;

for once:

in her bright eyes,

i,

the moon,

and her dead ancestors

are her world