CALAMITY
self-portrait as crème brulée
every dinner
has a boundary,
and this one
is now. when
present wine
stains into future,
i call in dessert.
i am to be
spooned. i told you,
in the end, torture
would come
on the swift heels
of silver.
nothing and
everything feels
final, like
a charred forest.
and the green,
there—
pine or relish?
my face
is full-on
soot. i am
too rich.
i am
confusingly
popular. so simply
a thing
to be
cracked, plated.
thus, i was
pushed
too near the sun
because i wanted
to be stranded
in some heat.
i said
humidity
is my home, but
under
the flame is
where i am
calmed. Live
and let fib.
i do, i shirk
from duty—
look at me
i wander
countries,
streets,
crawl
along ridges.
what’s left of me,
i call
twilight,
as if intermediary
as if i had activity.
Carrie Chappell is originally from Birmingham, Alabama. She received her Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the University of New Orleans’ Creative Writing Workshop. Some of her poetry has appeared in Juked, Harpur Palate, horse less press, The Volta, Cream City Review, Paris Lit Up, The Offending Adam, and Bateau Press. Her book reviews have appeared in The Collagist, DIAGRAM, Iowa Review, and Xavier Review. Currently, she serves as Poetry Editor for Sundog Lit and lives in Paris, France.