Sometimes it takes a six-hour drive to meet another villain to understand why you became one, too. Girl he used to beat, consensually, becomes the one you cry to, discrete, IM introduction: “I know what it feels like to be his orphan.” Week commiserating online while you grow more sure your tenure, little one, is done. Weak enough to say yes when she suggests you should take a holiday, Atlanta — there’s sex clubs. She knows what looks like love — your view opened door, her pompadour, dark suit, stare before she zips you in an obscene dress — feel what remains of his latest princess.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker from Pensacola. Her sonnets have appeared in journals like Glass, Yes, Five: 2: One, Isacoustic* and many more. She is the author of twelve books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press) and the forthcoming Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press) and The Meadow (Apep Publications, 2020). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website http://kristingarth.com
Banner Image “Pink Bouquet” by Robert Frede Kenter. Tweets at @frede_kenter
Tara Skurtu @TaraSkurtu is a two-time Fulbright grantee and recipient of two Academy of American Poets prizes and a Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship in Poetry. Her poems appear in magazines such as Salmagundi, The Kenyon Review, Plume, Poetry Wales, and Poetry Review. She is the author of The Amoeba Game. Tara teaches creative writing in Bucharest.
Banner Image “Dream #4” by Robert Frede Kenter. Tweets at @frede_kenter
At night, bodies unfold their pretty scars and souls start rattling their cages. Morning, always fresh and unhurried. Midday is to be lived within itself, good food, tempered laughter, a bottle of Amarone. There is an aristocratic cadence in the way time punctures the day.
Tim writes a stork down, the gulls, and -‘I met a woman by the littoral line. She played throwing with her dog, claimed, “I hate everything except cats.” I saw the waves revealed a skeleton. Whose spirit did empty it there?
like mortified teenagers who scream, don’t look at us!
Niall M Oliver @NMOliverPoetry is an Irish born writer who lives in London with his wife and two boys. He takes inspiration from his roots and everyday life, and has previously been published in The Lake Poetry, as well as a couple of anthologies but has yet to meet anyone who claims to have read them.
Banner Image “Siblings” by Robert Frede Kenter. Tweets at @frede_kenter.