Again / Kristin Garth 


“Again” is all he says to you.  Thigh high 

black socks, a kitchen counter stage strip show

reveal, moth-pallor calves, a cross-legged thigh,

pink plaid sneak peek half heart of ass. The glow

across your kitchen, amber, ash he drops,

defiles your tile.  Hands occupied, up/down

movements, slow peel, surreal, of socks.  He stops 

you with “again.”  Hour he strokes, smokes.  He frowns — 

you wouldn’t dare.  You’re barely even there, 

untouchable beguiler, baby faced 

displaced once teacher/girlfriend material 

a topless occupation has erased. 

Your countertop in tears, but you’ll pretend 

that this is what you want to do again. 



Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.  Her sonnets have stalked the pages of magazines like Glass, Luna Luna, Anti-Heroin Chic, Drunk Monkeys, Burning House Press, Ghost City Review, Occulum and many more.  Her first chapbook Pink Plastic House is available now (Maverick Duck Press) and she has two forthcoming: Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press) and Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press).  Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie