10/16/2017 0 Comments Poetry by Kristin GarthGhosts You’re either buried in the earth or ash, a quiz, all tragic answers. Question mark a scribble on my heart, how deep the gash you carve in monosyllables. Such stark simplistic speech, poetic flair reduced to words like “nice” and “soft, “so preti.” Brain, in bars, bloomed buds: “gossamer,” seduced with fingertips on fishnets, now needs to strain against a tumor, time to thank me for some sex from twenty years ago. Vocab of child with grownup memories, I store a lesson larger than its letters: Grab ahold of what you catch that you most crave; these ghosts you think of last before the grave. Plastic Heads An arm chair Daddy dead for days, a week of whispered Barbie fingerplays. Assumed asleep until the smell, her grief, that stink, just plastic heads to tell. Decay that looms, a house in hay, no human help for miles away. Her friends, they fit on fingertips with hair that glitters, lacquered lips. Their smiles transport her, yellow bus, with voices, scripts so treacherous. And when one’s bad, she’s sent to bed, a flick of finger to forehead. A rolling rebel’s quick brunette descent empties a finger for a blonde instead. What lives inside her comes from what is dead. A heavy heart invents a plastic head. Bio: Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. In addition to Anti-Heroin Chic, her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Quail Bell Magazine, Fourth & Sycamore, Digging Through the Fat, Infernal Ink, Occulum, Moonchild Magazine, Speculative 66 and other publications. She’s currently constructing a poetry dollhouse entitled Pink Plastic House: Three Stories of Sonnets. Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie and her website: kristingarth.wordpress.com.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
April 2024
Categories |