Two Poems by Kristin Garth
she whispers, harrier eyes, buckle-front
short coat, pole dancer’s thighs, nomadic waif
accident prone on british streets bluffs, blunt,
for scones, sandwiches, stitches up neat. safe
approximation of a fairytale,
alice, tea server, with obituarist’s
details, even name some memorial avails:
a savior, children, kind you assist to kiss.
full nude performer recidivist, when
you disappoint her, throw her away back
to neon, those strangers ready to pay — men
pretending love to topless amnesiacs,
last funeral plaque, persona construed.
she would have been anyone to love you.
A paper ball is breathing in your bed.
Translucent ribcage, a folded head. Ears
rotating at the sounds, a dreamy head
discerning what it’s found. It wasn’t here
when your eyes shut. It stretches a washi spine,
reveals red dot birthmark, a paper cut —
you understand this gift, pet, was designed
by his own hands, in mustard/butternut;
just one enchantment at the end, purview
of magic men, incantation to make
it breathe, to twitch a tail enough that you
believe in magic, forgive his mistake.
A paper kitten he enchants to breathe,
a little life he leaves for one you grieve.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart & Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. Her poetry has stalked magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Former Cactus, Occulum & many more. She has four chapbooks including Shakespeare for Sociopaths (Hedgehog Poetry Press). She has another forthcoming, Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Press March 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), and her website kristingarth.com