The side of me I fear kicks their teeth in and she is never sorry. Hidden, queen of snakes, she never takes the high road. She dances through me wearing only a bangle made of molars & finger bones gloating like Kali, her feet trample the gored body of memory. Kate Garrett writes poetry
Ganesha offers a lotus from this temple wall above prayer cushions draped in tangled knots screen-print splayed over black sheets. Cave paintings of Bruce Lee, skulls shot down in flames remind us of what’s to come: faeries wearing only their skin beckon you in to their Otherside. The mantra here has no words; it is the
for years I could jump above the tops of trees in my sleep. a recurring dream, though details shifted each time. yet it was always a leap: my belly flipping only with the ascent, never soaring, or falling. on other nights, my drooping eyelids dropped me into battle against a simple flight of stairs. just
You never expect this kind of treachery. The creaking seven-legged spider unfolds itself on a Tuesday at 4am. So off-kilter it lacks the decency to begin on a Monday, as a good week should. It creeps down from the ceiling. You feel like a child whose cardigan is fastened second-button in first-buttonhole: What is this?