Inside the walls of the house, under eaves & floorboards,
I hear the worms tumble. Loose nails jut out
like pins on a hemmed skirt,
little worm eyes shaking glasses, plates & spoons,
toothpicks, broken spaghetti strands, mini forks
to stab capers & pigs-in-the-blanket.
My girlmind returns, full of chaos & flowers,
& asks the wind, What wisdom does death gift us?
What fat saucer is gratified by the hurt that spills from the teacup?
I try to repair the world with words but I’m numb,
even with the scent of crushed mint & olives.
I put little stones on the graves
of unfinished conversations, let language
linger on the fringed faces of wild birds.
Distant lights are strung across the horizon
like a holiday display
& I cover mirrors, unwind all the clocks
to disappear my hands, my tongue.
I snip loose threads from my dress,
store them in abandoned sugar shells
while my hope waits like parsley & watercress—
garnish on an empty plate.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 6.
Susan Michele Coronel lives in Ridgewood, Queens. Her debut collection, In the Needle, A Woman, won the 2024 Donna Wolf Palacio Poetry Prize and was published by Finishing Line Press in 2025. Three poems in the book were nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Her poems have appeared in journals including Gone Lawn, MOM Egg Review, Nixes Mate, Pedestal, Spillway 29, and SWWIM. In 2023, she won the Massachusetts Poetry Festival’s First Poem Award.
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