Mg Roberts


What we see occurs as friction

the sky                                                                         an oversimplification

of what has already occurred: drawn edging in blue against body.



Where does one deposit breakage?



The spectacle overhead dims into hillsides as if it could go on and on. So much language

divided between texture and thoughts, husked in plurals, in sagebrush, in green hues

turning silver.




As in, aluminum layers filling shopping carts illuminated by the presence of streetlights.

For example, portions of your breath hanging mid-air, changing from gas to solid as you



Breath defying gravity. Its mystery invisible to sight flowing steadily downwards

contracting, coursing over underlying surfaces: a misted seam against earth.


The last bits of sunshine form a grid of incongruous lines measuring parallel to

stretched horizon, marching






towards color.



As in the movement of ejaculation or the gathering of possibility—awaiting shape—

slicing the sky into halves much like a human form opening into this life, vertically

spreading into context.

Born in Subic Bay, Philippines, Mg Roberts teaches in the San Francisco Bay area. She is a Kundiman Fellow and MFA graduate of New College of California, where strange tricks were added to her bag. Her work has appeared and or is forthcoming in Bombay Gin, The New Delta Review, Web Conjunctions, and the anthology Kuwento for Lost Things. If she were not a poet she would be a snake handler, or maybe just a good speller.