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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,



pine or relish?

my face


is full-on

soot. i am

too rich.


i am


popular. so simply


a thing

to be

cracked, plated.


thus, i was


too near the sun


because i wanted

to be stranded

in some heat.


i said


is my home, but



the flame is

where i am


calmed. Live

 and let fib.

 i do, i shirk


from duty—

look at me

i wander






along ridges.

what’s left of me,

i call



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.

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