a southwestern midnight hour


quartz rock body with the neck of a human


swiveling this way and that


how to tell you light enters me bright white and thick


a curveball through the gut


I am this—not the girl you grew up with


not the dance floors our bodies made of living rooms


once I articulated a mind


once two damselflies landed on my thumb


I watched a universe pass between them


sometimes a force field surrounds me


like I sit inside a dark translucent egg


this is how I’ve learned to be still


we are not who we think we are


there is a beautiful dense magic


the lift of a head to the north


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 maggiegraber.com.