Maggie Glover is originally from Pittsburgh, PA. Her poetry has appeared in The Journal, Smartish Pace, Tygerburning, Verse Daily, and other literary journals. Her book, How I Went Red, is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon University Press in 2014. She lives in San Francisco, CA.
For a Friend, Challenged
I shouldn't have left you,
without a without. So you made one
with your own hands.
This isn't about anything
but the actual needle
in its plastic sleeve, a literal pin
in a literal cushion,
sitting inside your desk drawer
among de-threaded necklaces,
plastic beads & gunky chains.
It doesn’t need finding to stay put.
Where would you live now? Where do I?
My father is in a hospital, his fat heart drying out.
I have my own heart & unmoored trees,
uprooted & left for pick-up.
The cat claws at the doorframe.
The garbage truck comes & goes.
We are all writing about each other
in chorus, an out-loud wince,
a cicatrix so unable to heal
that the universe must open wide to swallow it.
You said: one deer head on the wall
made the bedroom feel pastoral—
your childhood with Mom and Dad.
But many deer heads, collected in the shed,
their eyes a dark forgery,
became a record of flesh,
a sum of ghosts that keeps you awake, counting—
Poem from the Hotel
Frustrated with my reform efforts, I gave up—
stopped tending to myself like an injured whitetail (nursing
the broken parts with a handkerchief, a round of gauze to lift
the ooze away from the body,) and mapped out my identity loss
in real space, like a blood splatter. The cold wind from the bar window
reminds me that there are still palm trees in December, swaying.
This means nothing to me, dear reader. I am already aware of my choices.
I can care, or not care. I can wait, or not wait. I cannot be armed by my secrets.
I do not know what they are. I can ask you for another chance. This time,
with a plot: a man walks into a bar. He sits next to a woman, who is wearing
only one shoe. He asks her for a cigarette. His blue eyes have blue eyes.
She is already dead. She gives him the cigarette, anyway.