Categories
2021 Poetry

Gabrielle Grace Hogan

WHERE WILL YOU GO NOW?
after Chen Chen

from blue-ringed Peoria
night-streets. from shirts

yellowed with sweat. from
pedantic rage. from Lorde

at low fuzz. from genitals
unused. from the same material

as ducks & traffic cones are made of.
from orgasm bouquet. from the Cooper

& Laura intersection
where the house you lived in

saw its next tenant hung.
from hollow foreplay. from tonsil

abscess. from tonal absence.
from horses whole & healthy

in a pasture plump with
Kentucky rain. from Roman

Catholicism. from a rooftop,
peering up. from knees bent

to the bed, weeping so much so
the whole town goes damp

with longing for drought.


CHOICE PARALYSIS

i’m writing about love
i’m writing up & down
about love
i’m pissing
with the door open—
that’s​ love
the hardest thing
i’ve ever said
i haven’t
if you’re so human how many
traffic lights are in
my mouth right now?
i wish you would take yourself home
the heart
is a symbol
i use in my poems
the heart
is a t-shirt cannon snapped
like a good bone
what if
& let me
be very clear
i mean if
my fingers hooked
on either side of your
mouth & pulled?
is that
technically
a smile?
what if
i wake up
& you’re still here?
for the love
of god
what am i
supposed to do then?


CONTRAPPOSTO

the blonde cheerleader
embroiders bees into a dress
so her skin always buzzes
the blonde cheerleader
transmutes into the night sky
which transmutes into a rat
skittering under a city
the boys in the hats going places
cross over an infinity of rats
sloshed & slumped in
sewer fungus in stale pale
water girls cut their hair short
when they want something
out of you i’ve learned not to kiss
the falling blade don’t
stand too close i’m repulsive
with want i want
to be my mother’s daughter before
i was my mother’s daughter
to flood the dirty wet museum of want
with the semen i will never make
the blonde cheerleader
comes close to touching doesn’t
they crown her prom queen
in a thunder of fleas i thunder
my chin against a swimming
pool’s lip toxins need a way
to leave the body
she is beautiful like an aquarium
she is afraid the aquarium will
crack like an eyelid in the dark


Gabrielle Grace Hogan is a poet from St. Louis, MO currently living in Austin, TX while pursuing her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin. Her work has been published by the Academy of American Poets, Nashville Review, Kissing Dynamite, Passages North, and more. She is the Poetry Editor of Bat City Review and Co-Editor of You Flower / You Feast, an online anthology inspired by the music of Harry Styles. Her social media and projects can be found on here.