Previous Feature: Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her work has appeared in Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Infernal Ink, Moonchild Magazine, Occulum, Quail Bell Magazine, and many other fine publications. Her chapbook, Pink Plastic House: Three Stories of Sonnets (2018), is forthcoming from Maverick Duck Press. To learn more about Kristin, check out her website kristingarth.wordpress.com, or follow her on Twitter @lolaandjolie.

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Stockholm

She’s seeping with your secrets, slipping, slick
against her thighs. She’s sleepless shame, your weakness.
She’s memorizing lies. She swallows sick
suggestions. They swim inside her skin. Stress,
she sucks in silence, synthesizes sin.
She’s shut away from sunlight, slumbers in
a shed. She’s sure she’s now a number, been
some sad statistic in their heads. She spins
savagery to salvation, a saint
to psychopath. Smiles seem self-directed,
she sometimes even laughs. Her self restraint,
survival, soul sacrificed, protected.
She simulates so sweet a girl alive,
a strategy assumed so she’ll survive.

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Pittsburgh

A thing that happens to you on the way
to Pittsburgh, post mid-trip burrito stop.
“His favorite,” her whisper is to say
he’s made this trip before. He makes her swap
her seat, brandishes silver tubes of foil,
golden signet ring, slides in next to you.
Delicious smell a clenched stomach spoils.
He’s going to hurt you, not a fear just true,
and no one knows you’re here. He puts it down
unopened to open you, trace goosebumped
inner thigh to pink cotton-pantied mound
his newest home. After, he says, “Eat some,”
and he says, “my child,” though you’re nineteen,
as hungry as your future is unseen.

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Dora

The doll that does him in: an explorer
he buys a five-year-old he’s flown across
so many states to rape. Human horror
a monster makes vacation. Only costs
besides a ticket: earrings, baby doll.
Surprises he surrenders not to mom
but men with pointed guns. A sting they call
the trap he’s tangled in. A reptile calm,
a predator who still has teeth and tongue.
His story (little girl he knew to be
pretend; could not come for a thing so young)
undone by the dark-haired doll they see.
He hangs himself in jail before nightfall,
a pedophile who dangles for a doll.

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All Hail! Care to learn more about Kristin Garth and her writing? Then, give the image below a click, and read this interview conducted by Ambrose Hall over at Mr. Volpone . . .

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