Bisque Dismemberment

They burn her bedding the day she dies, garments,
a bonfire while the household cries.  Fabric
cloth, linen, scarletina touched, servants
collect — await a doll that’s clutched, static

— protected, grandmother’s arms, bisque infant
fevers cannot harm, Agatha, grey glass eyes
undressed, a grim surprise, insufficient
porcelain, modest dressing gown disguised

the body, cloth, no one can save, like child
beloved carried to a grave. They cut
away ceramic head, forearms. Burn defiled
materials diseased, disarmed. They put

what’s salvageable in a sterling box,
a bisque dismemberment to be unlocked.  

Photo Credit: kodomut Flickr via Compfight cc

Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola, Florida. She is a knee sock aficionado and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked the pages of Luna Luna, Occulum, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghost City Review, Drunk Monkeys, TERSE, Journal and many other publications. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available through

Write a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *