QUARANTINE DAYBOOK #7, BY CARRIE CHAPPELL |
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a duplex, after Jericho Brown I am a woman breaking garlic at dusk. I am a woman drinking to get drunk. I am a woman drinking to get drunk With a tongue that swells of canticles. Yet, my mouth thirsts for hours practical. My hands walk the surfaces, cursing Comptoir, courgettes, couteaux, coursing The wind that makes the windows ding. I billow through my saloon, made, winged. I sigh out my window in the rude republic. I spy out my window in the rude republic. My plates are soapy moons, waxing. My tongue licks its drink, notes, lasting. I am a woman breaking garlic at dusk. |
Carrie Chappell is a writer, editor, and translator. She is currently an English Lecturer at the Université de Cergy-Pontoise in Paris, France, and Poetry Editor of Sundog Lit. Some of her recent poems are forthcoming or have appeared in Iron Horse Literary Review, Juke Joint, Nashville Review, Redivider, SWIMM, and Yemassee. Her lyric and book essays have been published in DIAGRAM, Fanzine, The Iowa Review, The Rumpus, The Rupture, and Xavier Review.