constellations
robyn hager
I sort through words that look
Like constellations in my mind.
Virgo is vaginal,
I keep thinking about
My gynecologist appointment
Yesterday.
Aries is arrogant,
It looks like a smirk
On an older man's face,
It makes me think of
Hawai'i.
The rest don't matter,
Though Libra is lolling
Her head in circles,
Looking for words
In the sky.
It is daytime,
I blame the sun,
I blame everything.
I blame my desire
To never be outdone.
I reach up and grab
Leo, I don't put a face
To it because all I want
To do is hold it so
Close to me and close
My eyes and imagine
Everything I want it to be.
I stuff it in my pocket like
Receipts and chewed gum.
I blame you,
Making me feel
Like the day is
Never done,
Like melancholy is
As much a feeling
As gratitude,
And they are
Interchangeable like
Ink cartridges in
Calligraphy pens.
I smirk at the sky
And reach my hand
Down towards Virgo,
I cover her eyes and
Stuff her deep
In my pocket.
Robyn Hager grew up in New Jersey before moving to the Hudson Valley in 2017. She pursued her passion for creative writing at SUNY New Paltz and graduated with her MA in Creative Writing in May 2022. Her first poetry collection, "Sewage Flowers", was published in 2019, and her work has also been published in The Stonesthrow Review, The Shawangunk Review, Lightwood Press, Graphic Violence and others. She currently works as a writer and administrative assistant for The Shawangunk Journal and The Kingston Wire.
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