Maggie Millner All Comparisons Are Invidious and yet I traipse around appraising selves of mine like grapes hung off a stalk of which a few are rotten, others ripe and taut as eyes. I ate my way to the equator of my culture and I witnessed not a single oath get kept. I put my arms around the hawk my windshield killed. I tilled the anthill’s worth of dirt my girlhood cat became and went down to the pond with it for god. Imagine there are six of us in here: there’s Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, and LeAnn. At different times of day, a novel girl turns on and claps her plastic hands to Patsy Cline. I’m not a politician but I’ll wave my little flag from every semirural outpost on this coast. I’m not a saint, I’m just a name I tell myself to start my worried engine in the dark.