Black Rose

after Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 and for Blackie 

O’Reilly of Twin Peaks 

 “look at her ride the white tiger. In a few days 

she won’t want to come down, just like her 

daddy did to me.” Blackie O’Reilly



You shall prune their darling buds, deemed trustworthy 

(since they were rough with thee under sycamores,

when petal flesh opened new — thrust their thorny 

pricks in you, tourniquets until you tore,

begged upon vermillion carpet for a little 

more of something that these brothers fix  

from plastic bags, powdered tricks).  How brittle, 

stitched into pharmacological eclipse,

dim remnants of a bloom transfixed decades  

in rose colored rooms abides?  Swathed in silk,

you part a tide of crimson curtains, maids 

in French suits.  Offer poisoned mother’s milk 

to precious prostitutes the owner adores,

like he did you, before you’re keeping score. 



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

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