Poetry: What Disappears by Kristin Garth

What Disappears 

Some woods still punctuate my rural space. 
I’m never ready when they’re erased — be 
it pines beside a Dollar Store replaced 
by a competitor’s neon eyesore. The 
Target where I buy most everything 
was flanked with woods (until last week.) 
Out of those woods felines sneak, hovering
in the vacant parking spaces, meek, throughout 
the lot of this low volume store towards 
the pulled tab tin cans many purchased for 
these communal pets, the four legged hordes 
nobody forgets though their thicket home is torn
because some won’t stand for undeveloped land. 
What disappears is worth the check in hand.

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of over 20 books of poetry including Crow Carriage (Sweet Tooth Story Books) and The Stakes (Really Serious Literature) and the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal. 


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