dark leaves on forest floor with a mushroom rising

Photo by Wyxina Tresse on Unsplash

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.


Bio

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.

Author's note

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