Southern Gothic

You can tell a lot about a person 

by where they think the sky begins.

The map in the cafe bathroom still hangs in reverse.

Down the road, on the riverbank, the tree 

we used to jump off is a stump of itself—

roots entwined deep in mud and limestone.

Australia points to the ceiling, to the dim light.

What if Texas was at the top of America? 

Perhaps it already is. If south is up, 

then we run down to New York City. Sure, 

a field could teach us freedom, this river—eternity,

but skyscrapers are a lesson in trying to reach god.

Despite running, I can’t un-tongue my words

how Grammie taught me—curving around each vowel, 

pitched high as heaven. Are we both saying look up?

What kisses our eyeballs, fills our noses, reflects 

off every window, at Jo’s Cafe, the Marlow Mercantile,

the Chrysler Building—the sky—look up 

in between each leaf on the sweetgum tree.

Look at all that green.

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MADISEN GUMMER is a poet from Texas currently living in Brooklyn, New York. She holds an MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College, and a BA in English from Texas State University. Their poems have appeared in Sundog Lit, Bodega Mag, Santa Clara Review, Variant Literature, and elsewhere. She works at a bookstore in Manhattan, and is also the Poetry Editor at Pigeon Pages Literary Journal.

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