"disassociation sonnet no. 1" by Emily Murman



shivering at night in lincoln park

I chew my sleeve. lights flit through the expanse

having come from the zoo, a boneyard

for some twenty thousand working hands

post-chicago fire. black eats like ash

for every day is funerary.

I’m a child again, flashbacks

floating out myself to bestiary.

red nose pressed to glass I love

stink of wombats, giraffe’s kiss, the naked mole

rat’s crepey folds, okapi’s purple tongue

but misery rips young flesh from bones:

left behind by teachers and classmates

crying hotly in the crowd, a specimen.




Emily Murman is a poet and educator from Chicago. She is currently working on her MFA thesis. Her debut chapbook, SHRIVEL + BLOOM, is forthcoming via Dancing Girl Press in 2021. As of July 2020, she is a reader for Monstering Magazine. Emily can be found on Twitter @emilymurman.

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