imagine—an abandoned carnival deep in pinewood /
rusting memories into dusk / moss
inching up aching roller coasters / rotting swings blowing in the wind /
what rejoiced now weeps /
feel it throb—feel soil straining under
carousels uproot itself / cruel in its heaviness /
brittle as rotting bones /
nothing here can distinguish apparitions from mist / not even the sun /
peeking through pine /
a place like this cannot be torn down /
will always return to haunt the dreams
of those who dare to step into its sickness / dare to sneak into its murk /
close your eyes and it appears / close your eyes and it breathes--
rusting memories into dusk / moss
inching up aching roller coasters / rotting swings blowing in the wind /
what rejoiced now weeps /
feel it throb—feel soil straining under
carousels uproot itself / cruel in its heaviness /
brittle as rotting bones /
nothing here can distinguish apparitions from mist / not even the sun /
peeking through pine /
a place like this cannot be torn down /
will always return to haunt the dreams
of those who dare to step into its sickness / dare to sneak into its murk /
close your eyes and it appears / close your eyes and it breathes--
Madison Zehmer (she/her) is a poet and wannabe historian from North Carolina, United States, with published and forthcoming work in Déraciné Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, Gone Lawn, LandLocked Magazine, Kanstellation Magazine, and elsewhere. She is editor-in-chief of Mineral Lit Mag and a reader for Lily Poetry Review. Her first chapbook, 'Unhaunting,' will be released by Kelsay Books in 2021.