Effigy

Depth exchanges itself in final moments
for a filler, full of what could be but isn’t devotion. Seek deconstruction
in worship but practice in craft —
the twin: beginning. Cold breaks things. I’ve lain
in my blood ‘til flat on one side; it’s the affect
noticeable, written, recorded. How, in infancy,
exposure increases the likelihood to allergy is the same as white balloons
gathered in effigy and the absence of ourselves as collateral.
So let me tell you — I didn’t make it up.
I can lie down anywhere, wake up a Joshua Tree.

ξ

Silent Room 

Inherently at cross-purposes, a beam of light cannot excuse 
the grain of wood — see, it’s math of the heart at its fattiest, 
why the two together are so satisfying. Violet on a screen 
behind orange on a screen makes brown; tertiary is basically 
gussied-up brown unless one chooses a discreet method. 
The next person who mentions holding space is getting 
a punch to the throat. I put off living since I was born.

ξ

Amie Zimmerman lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published, or is forthcoming, in Sixth Finch, West Branch, the tiny, Paperbag, BathHouse, and Seneca Review, among others. She is the author of four chapbooks, including Compliance (Essay Press, 2018) and — with artist Samantha Wall — 31 Days/The Self (Ursus Americanus, 2021). Her twitter is @amie_zimmerman.