Kelly McQuain

The Moon in Drag

Moon of hunger, moon of hope, moon of cold nights
and telescopes. Hunter’s moon, low-slung and blood-
orange, moon of fruit and moon of thorn. Mother moon
charming a fussy child, werewolf moon fighting
an urge to go wild. Pale thumbprint sugaring
the afternoon’s solid blue, neon moon electrifying
all the night through. Full bellied moon, pregnant
with luck or disaster, moon of witch-chant, halo, antler.
Watercolor moon, soft brushstrokes, wet on wet indigo.
Moon inside me, shifting tides. Moon with thumb out
hitching rides. Witch moon bright behind a claw
of dark branches, skinny-dipping moon, back seats,
taking chances. Up-all-night moon, drinker’s moon,
moon of worry and moon of deathbed. Holy moon,
traveler’s moon, money tucked in a sock, a comb
in its pocket. Moon we aim for with our rockets.
Crossroads moon where the devil plays his tricks,
junky moon, a sweet stargazer fix. Bake-my-misery-
in-butter-and-brown-sugar moon. Juggler’s moon,
bills piled high. Evergreen moon, moon that pines
as cool as creek water, moon of second chances,
moon pressing against the night like a drunken lover,
moon that dances. Moon so blue it is the velvet voice
of a lovelorn swain. Moon so cruel you hope to hide
when it shines this way again. Horse thief moon. Moon
that knows the wind’s cold rustle by heart, pained moon,
angry moon, quick and sharp. Moon in feather boas and
come-fuck-me pumps, cinched moon, corseted moon,
moon trussed up to the nines, I’ll-have-my-way-with-you
moon that laughs as the willows weep, cricket moon,
lake bottom moon, moon that spoons you as you sleep.