Mag Gabbert
| poetry


+++ for Chen Chen

A fathom used to mean the furthest distance a person could reach.

A yawn—like chasm, chaos, or hiatus—is another name for space.

Chiasma: inside the globe of the brain, there is a dark place where

two hemispheres meet. The French say that dusk falls in-between

two kinds of beasts. Horny bodies. Bodies that cannot make their

own heat. The arc of a flung fist. The way a dog circles before it

sits down. Eyes lined with blue crescents because the phone rings

and rings. An open mouth. Commas, especially when they separate

two or more items in a list: a boy, a beacon, a buoy. It’s like I’ve

been running, all night, beside myself.

Mag Gabbert is the author of Sex Depression Animals (Mad Creek Books, forthcoming in 2023), which won the Charles B. Wheeler Prize and includes some of the work published here. Mag is a 92Y Discovery Award recipient; she teaches at Southern Methodist University.

Low Tide