Architectural Note: I wrote this poem about some adventures I had as a young woman in the dirty south which has its own paradigms about perversion. It makes me blush a little but it’s true, and my poetry is always about speaking the truth.

Dirty South 

She is a girl with a dangerous face,

absent of angles, pleading its case to 

swingers and shrinks.  Splotched freckled cheeked, subspaced, 

she dangles, nude, saddle-shoed behind new

aluminum gates for you on demand,

understands it’s not safe to stay. Sometimes 

you chase her when she runs away, hand 

covering a kewpie doll mouth, sublime 

to stretch, you should sew shut outside of this 

context.  Nancy Drew you must subdue 

to remain a mystery, archivist 

of the down and dirty.  Confused ingenue

summoned you with photos sans eyes and this mouth 

deceptively sweet as your dirty south.  

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com