Kate Garrett
I am the poltergeist who haunts us both
I am splintered by the impossible--
two inches sliced from my thighs
three inches snapped from my femur
trying to tack the missing pieces
to my hips, to my spine
I insist my thoughts are too complex
I insist my thoughts are lacking depth
and my voice paints the air with the same old roll call of reasons for this recurring mosaic / lightbulbs pop into darkness and the bits that are never enough pull away from me and make a semblance of herself as whole – thin as mist but stronger than bone /she finds the force to knock on the door and we hide from her shrieks / her fists pounding, her broken rhythm missing a beat then picking up three thumps where one should be / she wears a mask of my failings, covets the oxygen bloom of my lungs / I put my head under the pillows, cover the mirrors / if you see us in the glass it will split and shatter / you retreat into the fleecy black of the sleeping kitchen, find crockery stacked and swaying in ways I would not have left it, towers of bowls I threaten to break every twenty-five days but never do / when you step through the doorway they are a landslide at your feet / with blood and bruises she claims you / the sliver of me sent wandering wants to smash the world / she begins with my part in it
two inches sliced from my thighs
three inches snapped from my femur
trying to tack the missing pieces
to my hips, to my spine
I insist my thoughts are too complex
I insist my thoughts are lacking depth
and my voice paints the air with the same old roll call of reasons for this recurring mosaic / lightbulbs pop into darkness and the bits that are never enough pull away from me and make a semblance of herself as whole – thin as mist but stronger than bone /she finds the force to knock on the door and we hide from her shrieks / her fists pounding, her broken rhythm missing a beat then picking up three thumps where one should be / she wears a mask of my failings, covets the oxygen bloom of my lungs / I put my head under the pillows, cover the mirrors / if you see us in the glass it will split and shatter / you retreat into the fleecy black of the sleeping kitchen, find crockery stacked and swaying in ways I would not have left it, towers of bowls I threaten to break every twenty-five days but never do / when you step through the doorway they are a landslide at your feet / with blood and bruises she claims you / the sliver of me sent wandering wants to smash the world / she begins with my part in it
Biography
Kate Garrett is the founding editor of Three Drops from a Cauldron, Picaroon Poetry, and Bonnie's Crew, and her own work is widely published. Her first full-length collection, The saint of milk and flames (Rhythm & Bones Press), and a seventh chapbook, To Feed My Woodland Bones [A changeling's tale] (Animal Heart Press) are forthcoming in April and September 2019. Born in rural southern Ohio, Kate moved to the UK in 1999, where she still lives in Sheffield with her husband, five children, and a sleepy cat. Twitter: @mskateybelle / www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk
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