Wanderland by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine




Sanguine she stands before the silver coifed queen.

Shrugs off some unbuttoned lace.  Shakes hair

agleam, ribboned, examined, chin raised to glean

sheen of an offering fingers prepare —

sudor to slickness where she’s prohibited

hair.  Pink kitty cat coy peeks at subjects there,

oversized wing chairs, uninhibited

stares.  What says this stray, wandered their way, Voltaire

in French in college, now learns to obey?

Pink lips already spread won’t promise, pray.

In chasms of earth, she shall beg to stay.

This hole a kingdom where fealty’s paid

before mad, suited suitors, tea, clotted cream,

to sounds of surrender, sometimes a scream.