"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.