Zef Lisowski
After Goosebumps #14: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp, by R.L. Stine
Wolfsbane piled in the closet next to baseball caps,
bodies in the roots. (flayed shapes). Under the rocks?—don’t look.
Peep at the swamp instead: ominous clouds, scum tortoiseshell,
every summer until we split spent paddling out there for weeks ( ).
All this fear. Then, everything I said I said through the wolf pelt.
Then, the they was dreaming of fever mist, car underbelly clogged
with thick hair, the summer like tattered skin kept tattering.
“What’s the point of coming out as anything,” you asked. Root fog
mottles, thick as our hands. Our bodies imprecise. We were just
closeted fuckups in a swamp. I tried to say “kindness” but through
my wolf mouth it only came out a thick howl instead
Wolfsbane piled in the closet next to baseball caps,
bodies in the roots. (flayed shapes). Under the rocks?—don’t look.
Peep at the swamp instead: ominous clouds, scum tortoiseshell,
every summer until we split spent paddling out there for weeks ( ).
All this fear. Then, everything I said I said through the wolf pelt.
Then, the they was dreaming of fever mist, car underbelly clogged
with thick hair, the summer like tattered skin kept tattering.
“What’s the point of coming out as anything,” you asked. Root fog
mottles, thick as our hands. Our bodies imprecise. We were just
closeted fuckups in a swamp. I tried to say “kindness” but through
my wolf mouth it only came out a thick howl instead
Zef Lisowski is a writer and artist currently in the MFA Program in Poetry at Hunter College. They're a poetry reader for Apogee Journal, a giant squid enthusiast, and an irredeemable Pisces. Find Zef's work in Dreginald, Brooklyn Poets, Vetch, The Wanderer, and VIDA: Women in Literary Arts, among other places. Zef still owns the first Goosebumps book she purchased, and will be a Kanye West apologist until she's a pile of bones.