Moonsong
the clouds hang low / tonight & again I am / orphaned by the dark / & the gaze / of every man who refused me / as daughter / I write / myself a mother / with hands as soft / as peaches / her voice / the lilt / of water trickling / from a gourd / she warns / her dear girl / of all the ways a sky / can swallow / & a pavement / can fissure / & fault lines / can grow / across a woman’s face / like every disaster / my mother says / that maybe a man / can truly love / but only if / your lips / remind him / of the sweet rim of a bottle / if you can / round your hips to boats / in the evenings / & dry them / in the sun / my mother says / that women are like the moon / powerful / only in drawing wolves close / the waves of their pleasure / rushing to shore / against / the salt stretch / of our bellies / my mother says / women are only powerful / when they round themselves / into the moon / when they round themselves / yellow & holy / when they round themselves / into prayers / brilliant pieces / of thankless gold—
Ivy Li is sophomore majoring in English Literature at Stanford University. She is from Toronto and a few other places. Previously, her writing has been recognized by the Adroit Journal, the Claremont Review, and the Poetry Society of the UK.