A Graveyard Is A Flowerbed
A graveyard is a sort of flowerbed
like one you tend to, tulips red. Arrange
bouquets in her boudoir. You bow your head.
Bowknot stand collar hiding scars. A strange
debasement he requests, a ritual
of deference, performance morning
after he would make his habitual
addled walk to take what lies adorning
a regency bed. Frame, the same he laid
his schoolboy head, before he bought this house,
this wife he wed, reparations made
with blooms tended and tendered, child to spouse —
for seeds he buried in your flesh instead,
their graveyard becomes your next flowerbed.
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 fifteen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House, Shut Your Eyes, Succubi (Maverick Duck Press), Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press) and The Meadow (APEP Publications). She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com