the trees are dying and
he asked about happy
endings. those burning big eyes
whispered, “i’m on a mission.”
outstretched palms splintered,
begging, broken molars open to the world.
they told him to love you and
he cried; tried to paint your portrait but
missed the glow.

but leo loves him. see,
he takes cassiopeia’s breath away.

at night he plays pretend his
scraped knees don’t sting.
prays again. maybe
his bowed head is an answer.
with lungs whistling like
her on sunday mornings, he remembers

aquarius loves him.

swallows arsenic crosses. whispers hail
marys into balloons, but they sink.
so he throws his shoulders into
yesterday, jaw strong as ocean waves.

remembers orion loves him

About the Author

Casandra Robledo is a freshman at the University of Illinois at Chicago studying nursing. She has been published in the Red Shoes Review and enjoys poetry, smoothies and Clash of Clans.

Contents

poem for god

About the Author