Earth Is An Angry Lover That Still Makes Me Cum by Kristin Garth

Earth Is An Angry Lover That Still Makes Me Cum   My parents (right wing extremists I hate for philosophies as much as what they did to me) occasionally communicate — this week about coronavirus. Say it was created in a Chinese lab, biological warfare, though Trump’s got it under control but do you have,…

Arrive, Accomplice by Kristin Garth

Arrive, Accomplice   Dozens before you, bows in their hair, are lifted there, a feathered carriage ride to who knows where. Strain to stare until their eyelashes tangle tight, fight formaldehyde of perpetual night. Two, you served it in cups of tea, a hazy sensibility you lack reclining against its velvet upholstery. This avian belly…

Everyone Terrible Once Was A Child by Kristin Garth

Everyone Terrible Once Was A Child   Born as fog evaporated to sun three minutes after an unluckier one — brother lifted into shadow, dun, window, obscured maiden oaks, Douglas firs. Someday two doppelgängers run. Breathless the eldest, never more alive, infant no one expected to thrive is relentless years hence, escorted by crows, descendent…

There Is Worse In Life Than What We Dream by Kristin Garth

Artwork by Amy Alexander.   There Is Worse In Life Than What We Dream   Inside the belly of a crow, you are ferried somewhere you do not know. Huddled against your sister there, already far away in first nightmare. Twitches, cuddled, her tremors, count, you, wide awake, will ache a similar amount to metronome…

The Family Floor by Kristin Garth

The Family Floor   On the family floor, top of the stair, you sleep next to his daughters though you are less heir, relative — more retinue; there until they can find usage for you, not far away, where servants would sleep. Proximate to fetch their warm milk when they weep. Open your door without…

These We Keep by Kristin Garth

This is where we close our eyes and listen to lewd lullabies collected in a desiccating book. Illegible when we chance a look, midnight, just yesterday. Crow carriage takes two more away, velvet ribbon, and the one who prayed, or schemed, while we would muffle screams — those who forget their place inside the indelicate…

My Body Is Not A Message by Kristin Garth

My Body Is Not A Message   and if it is, I didn’t draft its lines. Had I been its author I might craft it more streamlined, an appropriate, refined, suggestion of a chest. Some smaller tits to hide behind a sample size sundress— same kind designed for women you would grant esteem. I force…

Small Talk With Mother by Kristin Garth

Small Talk With Mother   On rare occasions when we speak, all talk and topics must be tweaked to something in- controvertible or small, a walk I took, a shopping mall. Reminded when I did express, just yesterday, mercy for powerless, noblesse oblige, dog who died, not mine, my friend’s, who cried an hour to…

How Many Does It Take To Burn A Teenage Girl? by Kristin Garth

How Many Does It Take To Burn A Teenage Girl?   for Nusrat Rafi   How many does it take to burn a teen- age girl? Bangladesh, sixteen are sentenced to die — as trial unfurls, new villains seen, unsentenced, your tragedy. For instance, the cop who leaked it to TV, victim statement of what…

Two Sonnets from When Penetrating A Planet by Kristin Garth

We Like Wet Planets And We Cannot Lie   a ballad to the earth from the inhabitants of Nantek Ro   We like our planets voluptuous and wet, a population they half forget, used, deprived of actual power — just pets unleashed at happy hour, hotel abused and golden showered, minuscule enough to be overpowered…