American Fire Doll
from A Victorian Dollhousing Ceremony
Midnight door creaks means hide your head. Shut eyes.
Hold breath. Feign sleep. Play dead. Some nights, he peeks;
pulls covers to your knees. Tonight’s surprise —
blue eyes he leaves, smoke, butterscotch scent, treat
he keeps inside his pick-up truck. “Fire doll” —
he shakes you, lifts her up in your twill sheets,
buttercup, singed nightgown, wool blanket shawl,
his bedtime story two girls recall, speech
about this one, who’s real as you, pulled from
tall blaze, small rescue. “She’s lost her home;
she’ll spend the night.” Another unwelcome
silhouette backlit, firefly nightlight comes
this strange little flame to sleep beside you, stokes
blue iris flickers. Your lungs fill with smoke.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart & Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. Her poetry has stalked magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Anti-Heroin Chic, Former Cactus, Occulum, Luna Luna, & many more. She has three other chapbooks Pink Plastic House and Good Girl Games (Maverick Duck Press), Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018). She has another forthcoming, Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Lit March 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), and her website (kristingarth.com).
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