Photo by David Becker on Unsplash
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). She has a collaborative poetic opera A Victorian Dollhousing Ceremony releasing from Rhythm & Bones Press in June. Follow her on Twitter @lolaandjolie , and her website kristingarth.com
These poems were also featured in Issue Two of Porridge, available for purchase here.
Incantation, a secret beach, inside
me while some seagulls squeak. They circle in
a cyan sky. One alights alongside,
a locked black eye with mine. My cheek and chin
adorned of powdered sand. My small of back,
you steer with primitive hands. Whispers, miles
we walk to reach this place. Across train tracks,
a barricade I blush but breach. Defiled
before I’m on the ground; winged witnesses
whose squawks with moans resound. Most ancient, wild
animal noise, archaeopteryx
the dialect employed. Prohibited
a lust we hide because it’s primitive.
A Girl Who Didn’t Tell
Just brunch discussion, television, what
to watch this weekend. Not even a clue
I am voicing some controversial thought:
Going to watch that gymnast interview.
You know me well enough to guess the theme:
abuse, not medals, how to stay atop
a four-inch beam. Though they toured, this team,
and we watched with respect you have forgot.
A squint that makes me nervous then you speak:
“It’s weird they all said nothing for so long.”
And though you’re wrong on facts, it’s complete
empathy you lack, cerebrum to tongue.
What sucks the most? You know me very well.
You’re talking to a girl who didn’t tell.