Poetry by Kristin Garth

Little Brick House  

Inside a house of brick with just a bed
I wait for you without my clothes.  A place
we drove to on your lunch, a gift, you said.
and waved a key you used to trace
a line into my thigh so hard, it went 
from white to scarlet while your eyes went wild
and dark.  And then you kissed it while you rubbed it,
smiled and whispered, "This is how I leave my mark."
You slipped the key between my fingers, made 
me struggle with the lock  -- "You have to learn" --
Then rushed me past that empty room to bed
with pink new sheets I knew I had to earn.
Inside a house of brick with just a bed
I wait without my clothes just like you said.





Your Dirty Secret
 
Your dirty secret, screaming lashes.  Screw
me loud and long and mean then hit until
you get serene.  Can you pretend it’s true?
Just keep it to yourself, if so.  I will.
A crimson trail of blood and grinding teeth,
Oh, I have caught those hands much more than red
and seen my tissue pulp and drip off neat
unbitten nails too long to buy this bed
and breakfast shit from you again.  Unzip
this dress, just stare it down and wipe
your nose upon that sleeve before you go.
Do not talk of leather belts and bite
your lips in bars near me anymore.  So
just find your pigtailed screw and take her home.
Just leave me and my bruised up life alone.
​

Bio: Kristin Garth is a novelist and poet who resides in Pensacola, Florida. She is currently working on an erotic novel entitled The Meadow.​

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