Little Trees by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated stalker.  She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website

Little Trees

It’s not enough that I live in the woods. 

I need little trees inside — living rooms,

behind a chest wall, arbor of girlhood 

I hide.  My arteries bear fair unbloomed 

leaves irrigated with tears held within;

its silvered bark you mistake in the dark 

for something other than weathered skin.  

All you see is the muck covered roots, stark 

signs of the grove interminably green.

I hid it young from everyone 

because of the desecration it’s seen,

the savagery and spoils of the hunt.

Last blade of an ax bade me underground.

These little trees remind I am still around.