1 poem
by Gabrielle Grace Hogan
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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.
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