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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

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dolls

Womannotated – Madonna & Manchild

January 9th, 2021

Madonna & Manchild 

Bury bereavement in cellar below 
with buttercup onesie, Château Pétrus  
Merlot  — a godless sacrament you know
is mortal sin.  Silicon reproduced
to simulate skin so your spouse can 
begin, maternal virgin, again. Sleep 
walk through mutual grief she countermands,
rationing love, plastic in pale hands. Keep
cries deep in your throat until she’s asleep.
A baby monitor projects its first 
weep — graveled, full grown. The hell two have reaped,
one remembers alone. Insatiable thirst
nursed by propped-up bottles inside brownstone,
She suckles a doll while you drink alone. 

Continue reading “Womannotated – Madonna & Manchild”

Womannotated – You’re At The Grownup Table Now

December 27th, 2020

You’re At The Grownup Table Now 

after Servant 

In vermillion lipstick, a Dorothy 
blue dress, borrowed ruby, ring finger, beaus
to impress, submit to a coy lady’s 
request for your red shoes before she goes
another night to Oz, woos a tasteless
Lothario.  Leave you with a boy, shrewd 
serpent in a kitchen sink.  First, you finesse,
send for something red to drink. Latter, you  
will batter until still quivering, peel.
Boy who prepares, serves eel on a plate rues 
the bell which summoned him, the man of steel 
who waits to throw him out; you must stroke his rage.
At the grownup table, you will come of age. 

Continue reading “Womannotated – You’re At The Grownup Table Now”

Womannotated – I Was Blythe

I Was Blythe

I would do anything to not be cute,

fifteen, though it’s, without dispute, what I am,

Blythe doll eyes, wide face, small limbs a brute

could hold in place with fingertips.  Brown eyes Continue reading “Womannotated – I Was Blythe”

womannotated – Dollhouse Architect

 

Dollhouse Architect

Blueprinted girl rolled out wide to inspect

already torn, no one protects —  and why

should this one be tasked to care or respect,

question a purpose plans specify Continue reading “womannotated – Dollhouse Architect”

“You Were Once Girl” by Kristin Garth

animal4.jpg
Art by Moriah M. Mylod

they make a receptacle of pins — 

pale proxy still proximate to him, palmist 

whom they proffer pathology (absent

middle finger valleys mean they’re ruthless)

these cunning folk he sends away, to your

village, though you’re allowed to stay behind 

stone parapets in plaits, a veil demure,

a pupil with a higher left heart line 

deemed pure.  Sequestered, then you feel the sting,

the first of countless cuts.  No one is there

besides the chiromancer, your shrieking.

He asks if one of them did braid your hair.

It was the elder, her ominous palms recalled.

You were once girl they make a voodoo doll.

 

 

 

 

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of fourteen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), the forthcoming Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Shut Your Eyes, Succubi (Maverick Duck). Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website http://kristingarth.com

 

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