When the rhino broke its way out of your body

it broke its horn off too

so you lay there bleeding

and the shorn brillo hair of the freed rhino’s horn

swayed like blind birds

seeking a mother beak of nourishment

to grow and bind back into

something that could pierce

blunt and unlubricated. It fucked you

and it’s coming to fuck me. Maybe in the way

that blood loss causes hallucinations

you wandered inside an alternative where

when you held a thing you were

holding it up not

holding it under, or that

when you mourned the passing

of the last of its kind, you told yourself

you did everything to save it.


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AIME ZIMMERMAN lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published in Reality Beach, Vinyl, Fog Machine, Sixth Finch, and Forklift, Ohio, among others. She is the poetry editor for Drunk in a Midnight Choir, @amie_zimmerman on twitter.