Remember life going wrong

On the first perfect day of the year & set aside what you know
About the thing, all certainty. Pull back the membrane & stroke
The soft pulp of what you find there. Is it cloudless? Touch
The center. Does it recoil or enjoin to suck softly? Climb the pinnacles
Surrounding it so you can observe from above. Does it qualify
As a grid? If so, can you call home? Challenge what you know about
The negative space around it. Are you left with a tulip? Is it drooping
From the weight of a just passing rain or because its container is running
Low? This should inform how you feel about being inside versus outside.
I’ve withheld myself. My milk has let down—I may be ready to nurse.
Do I feed it? Can you now tell me how I have grown soft to you
In discovery? Rotten & sweet.


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Amie Zimmerman lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published in Sixth Finch, Thrush Poetry Journal, Vinyl, Salt Hill, and Forklift, Ohio, among others. Her chapbook, Oyster, is forthcoming from REALITY BEACH. She is the poetry editor for Drunk In A Midnight Choir and events coordinator at YesYes Books.