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a brand-new sky of constellations

E.G. Regan

on quiet nights i look up and imagine

that i can still see stars through

the light of the city.

i once knew where orion kept his belt,

knew how to keep cassiopeia’s secrets.

i memorized the lyre’s songs.

if only i could reach out and

pluck constellations out of the sky

like pennies off the sidewalk.

if only i could keep them and save them up

for a grand reordering of

space—new fables,

new shapes of myself.

but i know it is selfish

to want the stars

to want them put into my own designs

to want to keep them.

who am i to decide my stories

will ever be better than the greeks?

that i could ascend like andromeda

on the crest of a wave or

fly on the wing of cygnus?

no, i do not balance

on astraia’s scales.

i want so much, too much.

so on quiet nights

i mostly quiet myself.

still i sing myself into existence.

i search the stars that map

my stories—lost systems of mythos—

and shape them into dreams i can

soothe myself with when i feel

the weight of wanting crushing me.

these dreams—they are barely held

by cosmic dust, a faintest veil

of starlit glitter, but

at least a whole night sky

exists within me. 

About the Author

E.G. Regan is a writer from Toronto, ON. She can usually be found binge-reading young adult fantasy novels, researching obscure folklore, or playing The Sims. Her work has been published in The Bangor Literary Journal, Savant Garde, and Stone of Madness Press. She also designs chapbooks for Whispering Wick Chapbook Press. You can find her on twitter at @eg_regan.

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