by Wren Donovan
Where does this anxious monster live
in me, and can it be removed, or
is its body wrapped around my heart,
tentacled among my lungs, knitted
into the network of my nerves and veins.
Do we share blood? Am I still
me, or lessened now to carrier,
to hostess, all my insides
albumen and yolk, my outsides
eggshell, leathered and amphibian.
Limbs move beneath my belly, flesh
stretched over fat that glistens
when exposed to light, when the time for
opening comes. Is this anxious creature me,
or part of me, or separate, parasitical
or fetal, more than embryonic. I fear
it is too late but there will be no birth,
no slicing and no stitches,
only my absorption,
my transformation into ground,
into a spongy substrate, food
for angels, amanita, anxious and
afraid, bright red and screaming
poisons brewed from fire that fueled
my daydreams once upon a time.
Wren Donovan lives in Tennessee. Her poetry appears in Emerge Literary Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Harpy Hybrid Review, Yellow Arrow Journal, The Dillydoun Review, Moist Poetry, and elsewhere in print and online. Wren also reads Tarot, practices dance meditation, and talks to cats. She lurks on twitter @WrenDonovan.
Emerge Literary Journal 