You taught me never to bury the lead,
to speak with audacity, to open
with greed for each morsel you would feed
me by hand, your pet pupil, housebroken,
to stroke and command. Train me to compose
without clothes on the floor, simplified
like the prose instructors adore. Dispose
of the ego. Trust — no need to verify.
Remain a secret until the day that
I die upon some hill, significance
known to you alone. I was an accident
deleted from your phone — then existence.
Bones form your initials across a green field.
I am the darling you should not have killed.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and 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