spork press . oeuvring
BUY SPORK PRODUCT!
archive of printed pieces
archive of online stuff after 5.7.11
online stuff before 5.7.11 (poetry) (fiction)
nothing to see here
audio / podcast
mixtapes
submit to spork
FB   ///   TWIT

2 Poems || Abigail Zimmer


Portrait of the Back of My Head
 
It’s true I forgot how to open my mouth at night There is noise
and breath One night there was no breath but a long moment
of the impossible Then every night held the impossible and no
running just a small room eleven steps wide I couldn’t go
farther because outside are people who are also sad with exquisite
methods for longing the sun back into play Mine is to fold
into five corners This is the movement of leaves and petals
in response to darkness They are afraid of something large
against their skin North of here light is a triangle one can step
into to become holy—that is to be apart from feeling—and people
eat crowberries and redberries which are rich in Vitamin C and
explosions Here a shard of day gets lodged under my fingernail
I fuck it so that the wanting is always present Once a man in
an empty room heard blood rushing in his ear and said true
silence does not exist but I hear my name over and over
and cannot answer So what does that say about science
 
__________________________________________________________________
My best friend says that Horton Hears a Who is an allegory for the impending zombie takeover.
 
On the first day of the apocalypse the conductor stops calling out the names of where we are but I recognize Belmont because a drag queen is stealing your cell phone. The ghost train dips into the earth. There are halogen trees and fields of people discussing the just announced Pantone color of the year. We have all become designers. We are told to recycle, reuse, and repurpose. Is it ok that I’m exploding all over? I say. There is a blue filter across your face, you say, along with I love your brain. I give it to you because I am asking for Bieber’s beautiful wave of adult hair and an elephantine ass like Billie Holiday must have had, had anyone thought to take a picture of her walking away.
__________________________________________________________________
Abigail Zimmer is an MFA Poetry candidate at Columbia College Chicago where she teaches first year writing. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Columbia Poetry Review, Black Tongue Review, Foothill, and A Bad Penny Review.