Chimera by Madison Zehmer

Tell me—you know what the gods foresaw—

 
Crow innards next to a sleeping fawn. 
Turning leaves as cold as the Baltic
 

Scald. Wires caught in crosswinds—
 

Vultures caught in wires. I am not
Afraid of this labyrinth—only of its 

 
Breath—whispering away bodies

 
Into grime. The entrance always ajar. 
What lies beyond—empty space is 
 

An oxymoron—Hades’ refusal to see 

 
Me—false memory. Not sure if delusions 
Unnamed are still delusions. I can 

 
Feel my cells molt. Rinse me of this—

 
Pare capillaries—peel off what’s dead—
I’ll keep what sleeps—

 
What wakes up sweating.

Chimera first appeared in the April 2020 issue of Jam and Sand.

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Madison Zehmer is a poet and wannabe historian from North Carolina. She has published and forthcoming work in the Santa Ana River Review, Gone Lawn, Ghost City Review, and more. Her debut chapbook, “Unhaunting,” will be published by Kelsay Books in 2021.