BLOOD

Begins when you are ten.  Attack, surprise, 

you can’t defend.  A friend, they say, but do

they make you bleed and want to die? Disguise 

in black your need, the stain that says you’re 

through,

a girl that’s dead enough to grieve.  To wake 

in sheets as red as photographed true crime.  

A being marked to give that once did take

awakes ashamed, a sieve for secrets, time, 

suspended self — to suffer silent, serve,

a pretty picture on a shelf.  At ten,

you want to scream contempt but lack the nerve

not celebrate what feels just like an end. 

A burden blamed since apples and the flood

on women’s shame.  This bond begins with blood. 

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola.  in addition to Rag Queen Periodical, her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Occulum, Faded Out, Quail Bell Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Murmur Journal, Society for Classical Poets and many other publications.  She’s currently constructing a dollhouse chapbook entitled Pink Plastic House:  Three Stories of Sonnets.  Follow her on Twitter:  @lolaandjolie.