Gabrielle Grace Hogan is a poet from St. Louis, Missouri currently pursuing her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin. Her work has been published by or is forthcoming from The Academy of American Poets, Kissing Dynamite, Foglifter, DIAGRAM, Redivider, and others. She is the poetry editor of Bat City Review and co-editor of You Flower / You Feast, an online anthology of works inspired by Harry Styles. Her social media and projects can be found on her website, gabriellegracehogan.com.

1 poem

by Gabrielle Grace Hogan

Editor's note: We recommend reading this piece on desktop due to its unique formatting.

 

There's an Angel at the End

the road to Hell is paved

with a Hot Wheels track—

                i crave bitches

                with good hygiene & hair

                lush & looping as an ampersand

                i take pills

                the same colors as my high school mascot

                if that’s relevant

                the speaker of my poems is arrogant

                borderline misogynistic

                if that’s possible

                the speaker of my poems is clearly

                overcompensating for something

                when quarantine is over

                i’ll go dancing—eroticized

                into a velociraptor in heat

                dressed so femme

                i forget my place

                in line, maybe even the boys

                will find me amusing

                for some reason i guess i still want that

                & hey, watch,

                if you’re good, you’ll see my dress

                thread caught on a nail & spin & spin

                until i am so naked

                you could read your horoscope off my ass

                i am so hot i saw Lady Bird

                & yes, Saoirse Ronan was robbed

                & yes, Timothée Chalamet is quite beautiful

                even for a boy—you can’t deny

                that jawline. i am so hot

                at watching good movies

                i am so hot, a tarantula hawk

                state insect of New Mexico

                blue bulging ovipositor depositing

                eggs in the upturned spider’s paralyzed belly

                i am so hot i am ten

                & eleven & twelve

                & a whole conglomerate of numbers

                too scared to read

                my grandpa’s Playboys

                as they sit there, reminding

                me of.

                what’s that in the centerfold?

                why, that’s an angel, naked as a slut

                winged white as teeth before they’re loosed

                from the head

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