Poetry by Kristin Garth

Father's Day Plans

You're jaded when it's Father's Day, and what
it means to you is finding time to fuck
a stranger who's compelled to call you slut
but lets you call him daddy. Then you're stuck
explaining legal elements about
divorce to your young niece who doesn't get
to see her dad. He works forever out
of town, pretends for months to forget
a daughter he wishes he never had.
And, inbetween, delivering a new
electric ice cream maker to your dad,
purchased yesterday at Target in lieu
of giving nothing to the smiling man
who raped you; he'd never understand.




OUR EYES TOO BROWN

Our eyes too brown, we laugh the same and cry
a tear for girlish love, for daddy.  She
sits petrified behind locked doors while I
must lie to please a man who lets us be
unloved (and I am not the pretty one).
At night, awaiting lovers like a fix
for holes unfilled by sex all done,
the hollow me, it claws and whimpers, kicks.
And secret still, she blinks away a frown.
So hand in hand, no care for where we tread,
we walk off cliffs with eyes shut tight and sing.
We wake more maimed but share that same old sting.
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Image - olavXO

Bio: Kristin Garth is a poet/novelist from Pensacola, Florida.  In addition to Anti-Heroin Chic, she has published poetry in Quail Bell Magazine and No Other Tribute, an anthology.  She's currently writing a novel entitled The Meadow.

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