1994. British and Dutch astronomers
have recently discovered a galaxy
of 100 billion stars. you are there.
you cradle me in your womb as you read
the news. I remain a fevered dream.
your present is my past. the future
looks bleak. storm clouds
congregate on the furthest shore.
in a universe brimming with wonders,
both tiny and tremendous, you travel
up and down the coast to find something
worth waiting for. thirty years later,
you’ll still be searching. the newspaper
costs just 25 cents. your biological clock
chimes eleven. who else would gaze
upon that newfound galaxy? who would
look up at you as if you, too, were a celestial
body? you were luminous in my eyes before
I knew the meaning of the word. radiant.
if wishes were warblers, I’d take wing
to where you were. I once dreamt I
was Icarus. you were there. your name
was the Aegean and you loved me
like only a mother could – you caught me
in your oceanic embrace and I was glad
in those waters, to drown.

Caitlin Cacciatore is a queer poet, writer, and essayist based on the outskirts of New York City. She believes that literature has the power to change minds and start movements. Her work has appeared in Bacopa Literary Review, Sylvia Magazine, and The Good Life Review. She recently was nominated for a 2024 Best of Net by Sunlight Press for her poem, “Still Life with Roses.” Caitlin loves animals, single-origin coffee, ethical fashion, and thrift stores. You can find her at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com.