Sonnet School with Kristin Garth – Teacher Feedback Edition

Wildlings, earlier this week we gave you Sonnet School with Kristin Garth. Today, we bring you the results of this marvellous class, chosen by Kristin herself! Enjoy these sonnets, and congratulations to the talented winners!

Post-Traumatic Stress Season
by Robin Anna Smith

Every first fall morning I am greeted
by a peek into the face of my past.
In ominous stillness, I pause to see—
eye of the storm—await the other half.
Internalized potential to raze all
I’ve built. Look around to perceive any
movement. Darkness gathers as if nightfall.
While memories churn, gripped once again, he
digs in. Those words, those bruises, those bone-deep
cuts. A paralyzed moment, fear gestates
as panic begins. Droplets of sweat steep
my terror; I begin to tremble, shake.
My jaw tightly clamped, I am crushed between
ninety pounds of pressure in grinding teeth.


Good girl dating in the 1980s (a sonnet to my teenage self)
by Melita White

Make sure your parents don’t know what you do –-
The alcohol and marijuana frees
you so you feel no fear, so you’re not you,
and don’t feel shame for fucking under trees.
Though strangers walk on by, block out your shame,
pretend you’re on a bed with soft silk sheets,
and smile and fib and tell him that you came;
such pretty lies will make you feel complete.
You can be anyone he wants, his dream,
his prop, so keep on sucking up, good girl!
Society relies on you to beam
back love and stroke his id while you unfurl.
All kindness to yourself will halt and stall,
so close your heart and wait for your downfall.

Regarding Boyfriends
by Tucker Lieberman

Regarding boyfriends, some of us are hexed.
My first: in chivalry and smarts, too soft.
Another: eyes half-lidded, skimmed my text,
summarily decreed my meter off.
Another: there, but not there. Next, not there
in any sense. A husband cast his net
with holes that sucked the marshes’ gassy air
and lost his staple catch; I lost that bet.
These brief intentions shine with paste and wonk.
A funhouse glass distorts. In front, I see,
inverted in a maze of honky-tonk,
a past affair from which I must be free.
Until a new love comes! It’s funny how
he prompts me to negotiate the now.