Under These Stars

dear virgo,

i’m sorry these won’t be in order

i’ve always had a hard time aligning my

past lovers into shapes that make any sense

i like to imagine them as a midnight sky

lit up, in the country, in july

dear cancer,

you were soft in all the right places and hard in all the worst ways

i bought your bus ticket home on a tuesday night

after you stole money and beer from my roommates

thank you for leaving quietly

thank you for not calling

dear libra,

you left me chewing on my own flesh,

seeking something heartier to sink my teeth into

in your quest for balance you forgot how to have fun,

forgot that girlfriend and father

can exist in the same sentence and

i would’ve laid down everything for you but

you never gave me that chance

so instead, i wonder about your middle name

wonder about the alcohol you never drank

wonder about your timidness

i’m sorry i flirted with you for twelve whole months

from across your bar i forgot best etiquette but

you still said yes

you should’ve followed through

aquarius,

please have faith in yourself

you’d be my best friend if we’d never had sex

remember: those water-bearers make an air sign

you are light and you are free despite your tears

every pisces i know wears leather shoes,

braces for an adventure they’ll prove too anxious to pursue

you tested every boundary

on our first night you dared ask how many came before

and i lied

i said five; it was two

and now i’m glad i did because you, pisces,

came to me in the dead of a humid night

and asked whether i’d mind

whether i’d mind if you spent your time with another girl

and she

she was prettier than me at the time but i’m a leo

and i still found the courage to say “yes”

i would mind

and i learned later you kissed her anyway

i learned later that i loved you

i hope it was worth it

aries,

one of you came to me with a dead brother

the next, a dead mother

a dead end

i can’t fill these empty spaces

dear scorpio,

that’s my dad’s sign so i stay away

the phrase “avoid it like the plague”

was more fun before i’d survived a pandemic

dear leo,

i’m sorry. still.

i know fire and fire only ends in catastrophe

there was a wildfire haze over my city

when i realised we may never speak again

gemini,

you need more than i can give you

sagittarius,

how tempting

capricorn,

i’ve always struggled with earth signs

let me tell you about

taurus,

if our timing isn’t right

i’ll spend every day in your absence

scouring the earth for every clock

to pull apart, piece by piece

with bare and bloodied hands

until the bone-tips of my fingers are exposed

from dismantling whatever obstacles appear

i’ll bury each whisper of hour or minute

burn myself to put a blanket over the sun

and the moon

and the seasons

tear apart my muscles to keep the world from turning

every watchmaker will curse me

even the gods will become amnesiacs

forget about monday

and sunday

and limitations

if our timing isn’t right, i’ll wait

in the sunlight-striped evenings alone in my apartment

in the arms of faceless men –

aries, and cancers, and capricorns –

i’ll just as soon forget

i will wait in the mouths of one-time lovers

who won’t ever say my name the way you do

i’ll wait, some days, on your front porch steps

with my heart on my sleeve and a smile on my lips

taurus,

tell me that this season must be ours

or i’ll rearrange the constellations

until this love makes sense

i have nothing left to give