Fear Crow Carriage

Once upon a window pane, a crow beats,
with beak, a sinister refrain. It woke
you where you lay your head beneath frilled sheets,
four poster bed. Though curtains cloak
your frenzied form, admit a female voice
you chloroformed recount sins indiscreet,
call your name in the street. It is no choice
nor conceit but crime you left incomplete.
Select a knife, exit, a sprint, through door
unaware there are several more by
a carriage plumed in pitch. Inside before
you know she was a witch who should have died
as you will before you return to town.
Men fear Crow Carriage once your corpse is found.

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 seventeen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Crow Carriage (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Golden Ticket forthcoming from Roaring Junior Press. 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

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *