Hannah Cajandig-Taylor

        another cosmic joke- pretending to not be
wicked and servant to Andromeda, dressed in gloom

and reaching for a concrete galaxy
        just a few worlds away. We were
        tectonic-always shifting to become another
        rumble and name the sound of our core

        imploding on itself. I only cling to silent
voices and maybe you'll find me if you crawl

to the center of the earth, cradled in fossils
        and waist-length hair. You'll name the dark
        matter so I won't waste time talking about
        how divine it was to watch a goddess falter

        into a constellation, all golden and sprawling.
She'll smoked your last cigarette

and crush every star you were once
        proud of, each broken bulb of light fractured
        towards us, where we sleep in the backyard
        and wait for the sun to finally burn out.

Hannah Cajandig-Taylor is an MFA Candidate at Northern Michigan University, where she is a Graduate Teaching Assistant and Associate Poetry Editor for Passages North. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Ore Ink Review, Snapdragon, Tulane Review, Qua Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, and Rising Phoenix Press, among others. Before attending graduate school, she interned for The Missouri Review and Persea Books.
You can find her on Twitter @hannahcajandigt.

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