Horoscope

I ask for a sign             and God sends balloons
a stray clump of white and blue
from a baby shower, maybe,
shrinking into the sky more and more every second.

Thunder cracks the summer wide open.

I heft the vacuum downstairs to the basement
to remove the creeping gray lives flourishing in corners.
So thin, I think.             I judge bodies even as small as these

and it’s weird how reading a name can hurt so much.

Yes, kintsugi is a nice way to mend a broken bowl
with gold,
but you can’t deny a new one is cheaper and easier,
if you can do without the glimmer.

Men always tell me       I like to watch your face
but don’t worry—it’s not what you think.

Natalie Homer is an MFA candidate at West Virginia University. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Pinch, The Lascaux Review, Ruminate, Salamander, Bellevue Literary Review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and others. She received an honorable mention for poetry in the 2017 AWP Intro Awards.