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Three Poems by Callie Garnett

Some costume designers have just one name

 

 

Gowns by Adrian

Gowns by Irene

Huge puffed sleeves, bodice: cotton organdy

Hat by Elope, lacking extinguisher

 

I know the porcelain dogfish to be

Misappraised

Useless the flowers that you give after Ming vase

Has gone

Skin flakes off with the tool I use to put socks on

 

I remember External Motivation the farm where I was born, where little was discarded to the can

bacon on toast

I tasted taking mess pellets to the goats

It’s accepted now, isn’t it, when you die you get your trash back

 

Red rooster and sun, whimper by the show-ending window

 

I remember External Motivation the farm where I was born, where little was discarded to the can

And I have done my daily trek across the carpet not again

Whistling to the bearded Gordon, dirty Gordy down the

corridor with clackety black nails, red eyed in the sea-showing window, I intend to sweep out shoulder padded, with exquisite fringe

Coat by Adrian

Coat by Irene

Hat by Elope, lacking extinguisher, he persisted

in yapping at ships sunk, ships of lead, ships sinking, and then ships above the water

 

 

 

 

 

Nos tiramos

 

 

I’ll never forget how he said the semiarid chain of forested mountains interspersed with cacti and desert life looked against the sky

Like a woman thrown

I knew what he meant the giant humps

Recline he meant, the odalisque, the concubine

 

I’ll never forget how he said the semiarid chain of forested mountains interspersed with cacti and desert life looked against the sky

Like a woman on her side in bed or beddish thing but at whose bidding

I decided she had done the throwing it was I don’t know, asleep like big, alive,

wincing in his Cologne stink

smoke, birds, signs which through wraparound shades the divers watch for

I’ll never forget how he said the semiarid chain of forested mountains interspersed with cacti and desert life looked against the sky

He said hoy nos tiramos

Like a woman thrown

Today we throw ourselves

 

 

 

 

 

Hotel purse

 

 

We came back to the dark sand beach, small hermit crabs and not so able bodied bees crawled like drugged loading trucks

Meisel lives with her cousins inland, and when the family arrived by bus to the sea, she gave a little shriek, que lindo, how pretty

small hermit crabs and not so able bodied bees crawled like drugged loading trucks along the dark sand beach

Reaction is, pretty if surprised, and pretty soon I heard the sigh with which I perform my readiness to come down from a cry like, okay

Meisel lives with her cousins inland, and when the family arrived by bus to the sea, she gave a little shriek, que lindo, how pretty

Meisel with her two

Mansion shaped purses filled with plastic figurines, pool chairs, and people

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Callie Garnett is a writer and editor living in her hometown of Brooklyn, NY. Her first chapbook, HALLELUJAH, IM A BUM, came out from Ugly Duckling Presse last autumn. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Petri Press, Prelude, and Company.

 

 

Image credit: Christian Garnett

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