Our Lunar Daughter, by Keith Gaboury
Our Lunar Daughter
Our new moon daughter
descended from an orbiting perch
nine months ago. Gestation swapped,
your zygote expanded in the cyclical sky.
Those kicks you felt — moonquakes
from our waxing crescent daughter.
When your hips swiveled
towards my husbandhood embrace
six months ago, I stepped into
the gravitational attraction
of our shining kin,
our waxing gibbous daughter.
Over your cresting curvature,
my open palm rested, moonbeams aglow
through a paternal repose three months ago.
You carried our full moon daughter
and I carried the groceries up ascending stairs
one day ago — a full-term fetus above us —
into the perch of our home.
Keith Gaboury: By day, I work as a caffeinated preschool teacher with a sarcastic spine. By night, I write poetry, eat spicy food, and enjoy sarcastic time with my fiancé in Oakland, California. After I graduated with a MFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College in Boston, I had to fly from a MFA fantasy into making money. Despite the flame-torched pay, I landed on a job as a preschool teacher. In 2016, I rode a dragon from Massachusetts to California. As this dragon's claws are now fixed into Oakland ground, I write poetry with personality, go on Lake Merritt runs without tripping into the water, and teach dragon kindness to preschool children.
