By Ana Achata

an entire galaxy sits next to me
dressed in a gray sweater and boots—
i watch planets move and stars collide
when he lifts his hands
and there is nothing i can do but watch.
how do i explain the birth of a star?
he opens his mouth just barely
and there are constellations ive never seen,
while gravity follows him like a dog.

there is fire on his fingers
while he hangs the moon—
i am holding the rest of the sky for him—
like a child brings her toys to show her mother.
my palms are burning and scorched
but i would never complain.
a glance— and where one cry dies, another rises—
he is warm and beautiful
and every word after that is useless.

he tells me that he’s something simple
but saturn is on his teeth
and the sun dims when he steps outside.
jupiters 95 moons orbit his heels
and at night i become one of them.
he tells me the names of his stars—
the favorites, the memories, the thoughts—
while i consider becoming an astronomer.

Ana is a writer currently based near Chattanooga, TN. She uses her stories and poems to convey themes surrounding love, race, and self identity.