We have been spinning through grey
heat and hearsay. We need to dance.
We need to unravel the knots
that brought us here: me – a little lost,
red riding hood without a forest.
His arms and legs all backwards and bends;
he’s humpty dumpty broken, glued
together by so many lips, no longer the same.
In the dark my ghosting fingertips
bump over the cracks of his almost smile;
his hands find my back without a bread
crumb trail. The story begins.
and I’ve adorned my fortress
with faulty armaments, a poorly
my ammunition squandered
on a decoy, a distraction.
Even now the taste of her
lives inside my skull—
a saline truffle pinched
between my lips,
so for you I load the bullets
ready the war hounds
squint through the sight—
flush the elusive
out into the light.
Kate Garrett writes and edits. She is the founding editor of Picaroon Poetry and Three Drops from a Cauldron, and her writing is widely published online and in print, in journals such as Up the Staircase Quarterly, Prole, and Rust + Moth, amongst others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and longlisted in the Saboteur Awards (2016). Her latest pamphlet, You’ve never seen a doomsday like it, will be published via Indigo Dreams later in 2017. Kate lives in Sheffield, UK with her husband, four children, and a cat.