First prey then predator, princess from plague
of corpses, rats — white cross/black rain. Wood rot,
footsteps in smoke, cadavers diseased, grave
resolution to starve, bereaved. You sought
rodents, stumbled on cries, found slovenly,
cerulean eyes. Child devoted to
a corpse. Awaken death, her prayers without
remorse. Each aches for arms tragedy withdrew —
imbued paternity, their bond devout.
Resolve to keep her safe in hand, but she
is something you don’t understand — aware,
an animal who shed her baby teeth;
Her curls hide monster underneath — a snare.
Her thirst for life is selfish, childlike, new.
She seeks the beauty of the beast in you.

Photo Credit: stopete60 Flickr via Compfight cc

Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola, Florida. She is a knee sock aficionado and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked the pages of Luna Luna, Occulum, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghost City Review, Drunk Monkeys, TERSE, Journal and many other publications. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available through maverickduckpress.com

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