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Chimera by Vievee Francis


by Vievee Francis

(published in her 2016 book from TriQuarterly Books, Forest Primeval)

She's not "maternal," she's dangerous.

                       —Jamaal May

I have no charms. Admittedly.

No gold comb can move through

This mane. My skin is not translucent.

Mine is a tail to fear. I know.

And though a mother may destroy,

She too sees fit to create beauty

That would eventually grow into forms

I would swallow if I gave in

To my hungers. But, up from my wounds—

From this goat's body—

Up from my wood-smoke lungs, from

The milk of me, comes a song, a melody

To open yours, then lick them clean.

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