Brigit Kelly Young

with a child's marker

she drew a galaxy.
her belly—the moon.
fat yellow squibbles around the
crater of a belly button.
debris—circles in circles
of yellow yellow light.
her thighs held the stars.
blue ink on white pathways to
her bush—the earth.
inside—the sea.
each eye a planet;
venus and neptune
looking out at the upper west side
to see new worlds.

she drew a moon
on her belly
and it lit up
the night.
so yellow. so round.
the night lit
through the lampshade
of a womb.

her back was smooth and blank,
human,
and unreachable.

As She Learns Geography

with manicured fingers
she holds the world in her hands
aged yellow africa
cerulean pacific

as a girl
she confused the words
"pacific" and "specific"
"be pacific" she would say to her little brother
when he asked for jelly but meant jam
and she embraced the sea
in all her details

she turns the sea
the earth
round and round
with purple hands
throwing it up in the air
catching it
like a beach ball

and as on a windy day
it slips

latvia hits the floor
and rolls onto japan
and there's a crack in israel
that spreads to australia
and as it rolls
she notices qatar for the first time
while she searches on Google
for how to fix a globe

Brigit Kelly Young has had her work published in Drunken Boat, Gargoyle,The North American Review, Opium Magazine, Pinch, and Whiskey Dregs. She studies at City College, City University of New York. contact