Brooklyn Copeland Seall
Baby’s First Coincidence
Born thirty-two,
a disinterred flake— ash or snow?
It all melts the same on her tongue.
In public
she wears a watch, drinks her
coffee black, tries not to cry. Fails.
But famously, a celebrity
at a funeral for a pet.
Among the garden boxes
she strips to her bra, relaxes
into stone, the vacant androgyny
of the Statue of Liberty.
Drinks warm Svedka
from her daughter’s sippy cup,
imagines sunlight and white moths
landing on her shoulders
as if in a movie
but she is not an actress,
her attraction is limited
to mosquitos and blisters.
A poem.
The melons and kale grow
not from her loving touch, but
of their own unkillable accord.
The peppermint is defiant.
She is already once divorced
from the page, halfway
to the next palindrome year,
where the demons
are brand new
and the maggots sugar-spun.
The climate of passage
makes nectar of sweat.
Even the mailman calls her
Mom.
Brooklyn Copeland Seall once published several chapbooks, was awarded a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship, and brought out her first book of poems, SIPHON, HARBOR, on Shearsman Books in 2012. Since then, she has gotten married, had two daughters, and focused more on her para-literary career, but has been quietly carving out time to start organizing her second full-length collection of poems. Visit her website here: brooklyncopelandseall.com
Return to July 2017 Edition
Born thirty-two,
a disinterred flake— ash or snow?
It all melts the same on her tongue.
In public
she wears a watch, drinks her
coffee black, tries not to cry. Fails.
But famously, a celebrity
at a funeral for a pet.
Among the garden boxes
she strips to her bra, relaxes
into stone, the vacant androgyny
of the Statue of Liberty.
Drinks warm Svedka
from her daughter’s sippy cup,
imagines sunlight and white moths
landing on her shoulders
as if in a movie
but she is not an actress,
her attraction is limited
to mosquitos and blisters.
A poem.
The melons and kale grow
not from her loving touch, but
of their own unkillable accord.
The peppermint is defiant.
She is already once divorced
from the page, halfway
to the next palindrome year,
where the demons
are brand new
and the maggots sugar-spun.
The climate of passage
makes nectar of sweat.
Even the mailman calls her
Mom.
Brooklyn Copeland Seall once published several chapbooks, was awarded a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship, and brought out her first book of poems, SIPHON, HARBOR, on Shearsman Books in 2012. Since then, she has gotten married, had two daughters, and focused more on her para-literary career, but has been quietly carving out time to start organizing her second full-length collection of poems. Visit her website here: brooklyncopelandseall.com
Return to July 2017 Edition