My Brother and I Were Conjoined with a Pantomime Horse Costume
When he was born he was the shaggy mane,
elliptical nostrils flaring, adorable whinny
alerting the family to erupt in stitches.
The nodding head said I am here.
Not aborted, not stapled, not glued.
As the rear, I could only hear wind
rushing through the elevator shaft
of a 33-story building. No one would listen.
They were busy carrying my brother up ladders,
falling off then trying again.
Marigolds sprayed their death scent
from the manicured gardens.
I boiled them to make tea.
As my brother grew, I forced him
to the rear, his tail black electrical rope
swaying softly to The Safety Dance
by Men Without Hats.
I became the nodding head to my parents,
alternating I hate you, I love you, I despise you,
I need you.
As the head
I inhaled petrichor, valleys of irises & tulips
turning their blue cups inside out.
I sneezed wildly, allergic to ragweed,
pollen & hickory trees. An inherited disease
caused my brother to keep falling
until he was no longer able
to lift head or tail.
On our dream farm we moved in unison,
trotting, galloping left then right
into the trough.
Now I’m the headless rider, the butt
of my own jokes
& insecurities.
Without a brother
I’m a drifting dandelion seed
that won’t regrow. A horseshoe
on my buttocks
brands me solo.
Susan Michele Coronel lives in New York City. Her first full-length collection, In the Needle, A Woman, won the 2024 Donna Wolf Palacio Poetry Prize and is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press this July. A two-time Pushcart nominee, she has been published in numerous journals, including Nixes Mate Review, Mom Egg Review, Redivider, One Art, and Spillway 29. In 2023, she won the Massachusetts Poetry Festival’s First Poem Award. Versions of her book were finalists for the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award (2023), the C&R Press Poetry Award (2023), and the Louise Bogan Award (2024).
