ABIGAIL ZIMMER

CEZANNE'S APPLES AND PEARS, MARLON BRANDO

                                           —from Manhattan

You’re convinced you were never with me 

in Santa Fe. Remember how it tasted of

cilantro and tired waiters? Something has gone

wrong. What good is memory if it’s only

the going left on repeat, a taxi hailed, a sense

of speech. To say a perfect s I would have to

break and rebuild my jaw. Who has that kind of

desire? If I am holed up in a cast it’s because

January is already miserable. Woody Allen’s 

reasons to keep going are not mine though 

the fact one talks only highlights of Brando’s 

career is, perhaps, admirable. On this day I am 

slight against the couch, calling for a glass of

—no a watershed—and somewhere behind me 

an echo kindly informs, quietly informs: it is

not my wish to make demands.

BIO

Abigail Zimmer is an MFA Poetry candidate at Columbia College Chicago where she teaches first year writing. Her work is forthcoming in Columbia Poetry Review, Black Tongue Review and Foothill.