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.