How you hear

the two papers

of a joint burning


How she said

or was it

the idea of her

that said

two people

can be two pages

of one book


That we come

from mucus membranes


That a body

can be a moment

of silence


A pencil

writing the letter

‘d’ over

and over


like a bricklayer


a hard wall


what’s soft



tells us

our sadness

is not new


We live in mansions

of categories


I am of a people

called Capricorns


Ruled by Saturn

a hula-hoop

circles my feet

like a ring of salt


This whole time

a meandering

Southern river

has flown

beneath my skin


I am thinking

of the fantasies

of trees


The only relationship

I’ve ever given myself

fully to

is my cell phone


Flat rectangular eye


It gets all of me


The symbol

for Capricorn is a goat

with a fish tail


I draw my body on paper

and see a matchstick

you could strike


MAGGIE GRABER is a queer poet from the Midwest. She holds degrees from Indiana University and Southern Illinois University Carbondale, and has been the recipient of grants from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund and the Luminarts Cultural Foundation. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Louisville Review, Southern Indiana Review, Hobart, The Adroit Journal, Nightjar Review, Moon City Review, and elsewhere. She currently works in Wisconsin as a Wilderness Therapy Field Guide. Find her online at