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 anthillís 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: thereís 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. Iím not a politician

but Iíll wave my little flag
from every semirural outpost

on this coast. Iím not a saint, Iím just
a name I tell myself

to start my worried engine in the dark.

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