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angelle chapuis
angelle chapuis, is a 19-year-old college junior. she has been pubished in ellipsis, the university of new orleans' literary journal.

Works on this page:
a letter to mr. alligator, concerning thanks for his assistance
the people at the bus stop; or, the unfairness of modern american society
cinderella's gone mad!


a letter to mr. alligator, concerning thanks for his assistance

I can feel your love plinkety-plink
like potato chips on an empty stomach:
a growl, then pain blooming out
and seizing me for a long moment, then
There is a monster in my tummy
that wants to eat you up-
scales, grin, platitudes (yum), every part.
Are your eyes rolling in fear? Don't worry-
he scares me, too, like water in a giant's glass.
Shaking and splashing, that's me.
But I can regenerate,
after he gnaws on my Fallopian tubes like licorice.
You are a menstrual cramp,
constant. Did I ask for dedication?
You whomp through my bones
and when you tremble, my teeth ache.
Are you coldblooded? Yes. I am your sun.
Though I wish to be the moon.


I could call you sweet and fresh, a tomato,
but you're not. A fried tomato, maybe-
hard and salty, yet with a definite squish.
But I hate tomatoes.

The People at the Bus Stop; or, the Unfairness of Modern American Society

An armless main waits for the sun to go down
while the beautifully eyeshadowed girl twits on her cell
(the time it took to make those eyes
took that man's arm away)
Pioneering girls sneer at the leg-shavers
(but they shave their pubes secretly)
The filth on the bag lady's hands corresponds
to the unseen on my own.
(you little tomato-twister, you)
The pavement presents uniformity and carelessness,
pebbles interspersed with trodden-on gum.
The bus fumes knock the hummingbirds out,
who are innocent of construction.
The celebration of public insanity
started with Ronald Reagan, parading them gleefully
as if it weren't an eviction notice.

Cinderella's Gone Mad!

Stepsister, twirl away from me on your broken toes.
Our wishes are like bluebells trampled under horsefoot.
Oh, Father, watch out for that low-hanging branch!
Don't leave me with a sooty fireplace!
Warrior fashion, I'll shave my head in consternation-
rip my gown to kill.
To shove you, unseeing Stepsister, down the stairs-
to see your head burst, pumpkin-like,
against the stone step-
would cleanse me of all jealousy.
Twirl away from me on your broken toes,
Nearsightedness being your downfall.
The prince is now safely tied
to my apron string.
My crystal eyes are as clear
as these shoes are rightfully mine...

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