On The Morning of Jeffrey Epstein’s Death by Kristin Garth

I’m mourning in a coffee shop not some billionaire pedophile but once again myself — how essential this becomes to mental health, the remembering when I was someone else — small enough to be controlled, cajoled — processing 46 years old, Saturdays in coffee shops, chai tea complimentary cake pops, quite often tears I hope…

2 Sonnets by Kristin Garth

    The Woods Have Teeth   Dangled beneath branch bowed, a bottom lip, perceived to be half of a smile, a child believes it for a while.  After arms rip the residents its foliage hides, wild   squalls, some shawled invalid saw (infants humans would claim, rename), remain untamed, same feral pets, a mansion…

A Library Card Is A License of The Mind by Kristin Garth

Her polka-dotted patterned calves gallop prepubescent paths, story time, equine imitations in kitten heels.  Scalloped peep toe cardinal toe reveals define universality, woman you want to be — not property in homemade dress, cardholder in a world of yes.  Type font card stock, signed, squeezed, tiny envelope pressed palm to Hello Kitty purse, gift of…