Brooklyn Copeland

A ponderous house
 
I have overstayed my welcome
in the season of glasses, juice and rock.
 
The egg in me and the man
have united in violent tremens,
in fluey a capella,
 
in a lima bean cum seahorse
whose tethering thread
is sheer
 
luck. I have laid, scattered
as fifty-two cards
beside a forty-winks alarm
clock, watching
 
for the folk song’s bridge,
the red wine’s legs, the pear tree’s crotch―
 
my private zodiac―
to fade in from black.
 
I have overplayed my leeway
in the season of the payback.
 
              Any advice for this perspiring
grasshopper,
 
figment godmother?
 
 
 
* title borrows from a line of Sylvia Plath’s poem, Metaphors
 



Brooklyn Copeland works and plays in Indianapolis. Her first book, SIPHON, HARBOR, was published by Shearsman Books in 2012. Her poems and translations have appeared most recently in Burnside Review, Sink Review, Interrupture, Poetry, Parcel, and La Petite Zine. She is also the author of several chapbooks, the links to which can be found at her blog, brooklyncopeland.blogspot.com/




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