By: Kristin Garth
Fog encircles glass houses — also
ephebic brains. Between mist and bay, eyelids
remain less than half open but follow
vibrissae, suspended in air. Form hid
inside vapor, an invisible hare,
impossible to quantify height
although wide irises stare, high as a bear’s
upon hind legs contemplating a fight,
unblinking eyes, fur silver white as
twilight sky, hyacinth haze, shadow
of ear, shade of malaise makes its path
towards glass of a girl’s bedroom
who must decipher this riddle on tiptoe
into a darkness if she wishes to know.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated stalker. She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal). 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