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  • Writer's pictureLammergeier Staff

Two Poems | Kelsey Zimmerman

Updated: Dec 28, 2021

Zimmerman House

Inner being. Garage added on - a larger stomach

to devour with. Look, my intestines, the divertive

machinations of my hair. Wig, rather. The roof

my flip-top, basement my anchor, where the proud

father goes to cool down from a

tirade, where the children go to cool

down from the heat. They bring freezies,

bump careless against the stairlift,

dog an eager beggar close behind.

Single windows don my bedrooms—

roof my being,

proud my being,

replaced daughter on the corner with

the outer walls of time. Proudly the style of the time. Proudly today’s hottest trends

in a little shimmy ranch. Proudly on the corner of

proud & proud & proud &

Heart Rot

heart rot, n: a fungal disease in trees that rots the whole from within.

Imagine my heart as a lemon grove:

these sour chambers throb their prickled skin —

torch-guts, beacon-guts, rabid for a fell

sweetness. Yellow-dot heart wrung of its red

reveals these trees and fruits, garish green, sun-

marrow. Citron as a rubber duck, bath-

brew, hanging pendulous as noose fodder,

branches choking rinds to this puckered hue —

Yellow, color of plastic childhood

Yellow of the first snowdrops, heads poking

out of the crown of snow-melt, ochre

of those final deciduous stragglers.

Show-me shade of all summer evenings

dipped in the haze of cricket-thleep thleep thleep —

Have I mentioned? I fucking hate lemons.

Kelsey Zimmerman is a writer and visual artist from Michigan currently living in Iowa. A 2021 Best of the Net Nominee, her work is published or forthcoming in The Indianapolis Review, Nurture: A Literary Journal, and Ghost City Review. You can find her on the web at

Twitter: @kelseypz



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