Locked
What forbidden rooms wait to be discovered
with blood-stained keys and crimson gasps?
I knew only that my skin peeled at your voice.
In the night, the shadows reverberated against my nakedness.
Hands groped me hollow as a keyhole.
My nails shuddered against the wall.
I dreamt my breasts were pears, infested with wasps
buzzing against your lips and dripping
bloodmilk, an ill omen.
In the morning I found you hidden
behind a soft beard, as if the sharp angle
of your hungry jaw would be forgotten.
This sort of sorrow won’t stay locked in the throat,
it will swell your tongue until it pops
And blood runs blue down your chin.
Catherine Garbinsky is a writer living in Northern California. She holds a degree in The Poetics of Transformation: Creative Writing, Religion, and Social Justice from the University of Redlands. Catherine is the author of a chapbook of Ursula K. Le Guin erasures, All Spells Are Strong Here (Ghost City Press, 2018). Her work has been featured or is forthcoming in Rag Queen Periodical, Rose Quartz Journal, Venefica Magazine, Pvssy Magic Press, and others.