Here’s a poem by Maggy that – as I see it – feels at first like a poem/journal entry hybrid, with obviously well-crafted turns of phrase. What’s interesting about “Open Form” poetry like this is how, since it doesn’t follow an established structure, the reader discovers (or maybe even creates) a structure as it emerges over several readings. What do you think? The (artistically?) fuzzy photo is from a ‘trip advisor’ site, of all places. Strangely appropriate.
life travels in concentric circles.
i want to pray to anything sometimes, anything and nothing, god, the stars, the trees outside my window, parked cars in the lot emanating heat which brings back the memories of us and your van and the chill of that first night, the smell of tilled earth.
it all hits me so hard sometimes: how you notice the idiosyncrasies of my face, the smallest changes of expression. how it feels so goddamn safe to be protected by you but i am fighting it, fighting, and sometimes everything ends up fitting together so perfectly i could scream. but most of those times i want to grab you by the arms and shake you till my chest rattles,
just so i know you’re in there. i never cry anymore. please break me down for a few minutes — just a little while. dissolving gives me a chance to fit in your arms, it make this steel blanket easy to fold, bend, crumple. (i’ve been running manic for fifty-seven days now, minus one. two nights ago, i heard voices for three and a half seconds, please take this away, please, )
i do not have much faith– although your love is empirical — (two words i always forget, or maybe three)
it’s always dark when we’re together, and i miss your eyes. something you don’t realize yet — your pain is now my fight. i could give a fuck about how strong you are, were, will become.
the knobs in my spine, grooves in the road,
your calloused fingers, like running over something holy.
we’re still driving down route 5 searching for stars and i, left with your years filled with nights of evil and art
i am still only a child. no, i am not leaving.