karen
garthe

 

 

 

 

 

                                 STATE FAIR Conspiracy

 

well, Septembers to her    final strawberries to her and the stark crows’
                                                      murex-black sheen
murmuring behind doors here’s      the underworld complex of warning
                                                      and his banshees’
diligence and practice that never pried open her intimate
                                                  Waiting
                                                 lone on the fairgrounds here
                                               strolling families
                                             here are the toughs and young
                                           lovers
                         he banks off
the highway into the corn field’s green sheath torpedoes
silken hair
playthings of viper and worm

 

 

 

                                         Russian Shawl

 

                       OUR CROWD tucks in    the great estate’s throned nook
                                             shooting breezes     mumbling our feet of clay

        

         New Terms penmanship crabs out of her nautilus
rollout & ponder       this stump of motherhood on separate hallowed farms

             I’ll unpack the hall of mirrors now I’ll broider

                                                            thick roses on thick
                                                            black wool’s sprawl
             of Siberian railroads doubling the fringe
                                                      I’ll knot the rattling the end of
                                                         the line
             of our old lawn’s broad    Doric intervals

 

 

 

                          waiting for Honey to drop from the spoon

 

                       full forgetting who sits in your lap  ghosting   their own wander hall
                       wafting    a little dancing   a little
                                                                 and laughing around the pay phone
                                            chartering nosedives of   twirl
                winged yet heavy   hoarse   absolutely invaded
                                    &
     utterly emptied my unmoored beloved strikes out for the highway
                  a new route to penniless freeform
    bellowing   crying in a seam of wind
                                                             a tattered messenger flipping heads/tails
            forgetting on one side    on the other the floating world
                                                                              a pointless binary
                                          come home    come home
be yourself   again on the balcony   again in the garden in

                                            the pots and pans of all-purpose flour    in whole whole milk

 

 

Karen Garthe is author of four poetry collections Vagrant (one) in thin air, the hauntRoad, The Banjo Clock, and Frayed escort. Her poetry and essays have appeared in journals, including HERE, Lana Turner: A Journal of Poetry and Opinion, New American Writing, and many others.