Mythweaver

You—mythweaver—stepped on my anklebones,
rendered them useless and dead. You

Tell me the fractures are flowering. You
Show me blood under your nailbuds,

Show me little fracture lines on
The keratin. You say: I only feel

What and when I want to. I know,
Because I’ve seen your madness in all of

Its machinery—electric guests that
Move into your mind, clear everything

Out, plan your funeral procession
Before you even know your name.

I want to tell you to stop hiding your
Hopes under radiators and

Ovens. But I—chorus—am silent as
I pluck out my eyelashes, exhale them

Into dust like the bone bits that
Rattle as I walk to madhouses and

Missouri, your Missouri of
Regurgitated blueberry pancakes

And Occam’s Razor and knees skinned
By gravel altars, your Missouri of

Silhouettes and gods and me.

Madison Zehmer is a wannabe historian and emerging poet from North Carolina. She has forthcoming and published work in Santa Ana River Review, Wards Lit Mag, La Piccioletta Barca, and Origami Poems Project. She can be reached on Twitter @madisonzehmer and on Instagram @mirywrites.