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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