1) a dim, distinct constellation in the northern sky
2) root of “sagittal suture”, the seam connecting left and right parietal bones of skull
3) latin for “arrow”
4) keystone of an arch
the dot between my integers and their floating points
those anodyne remainders from years of meticulously
dividing my body into smaller and smaller portions to give to you
once i asked if you wanted some champagne and you said
“yes, but i’m gonna wanna put a bunch of shit in mine”
and one of my sagittas flickered out
Sagitta, is an embrace but a vice grip justified by its generosity?
Sagitta’s lover is hunching, holding down
the arches pressing them down
all the way down while sagitta blinks like
a low battery*
Sagitta, you are your own linchpin. redistribute your downward force, you go gitta.
see also sagittating:
verb. temporarily unzipping
the sagittal suture to allow the
brain to continue to grow normally;
that street-walk clarity
country girl in the city high
*this is not a cyborg metaphor. i am not a robot girl, just a series of anatomic landmarks in search of sagittal bliss.
Amy Smith is a writer and researcher living in San Francisco, California. She was born and raised in Florida. A geographer by training, she currently works as a data scientist and makes maps in her spare time. Her poetry has previously appeared in the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Cathexis Northwest Press, and Sparkle & Blink.