Necropolis – a poem by Kristin Garth
You gained admittance like a ghost. Gashed gauze
of girlishness; it tore you, too — almost.
Transmuted flesh to memory, a sawed-
off sympathy inside my innermost
necropolis of buried flesh — mound
of bones without an exodus. Mass grave,
marauders, matchstick men, communal sounds
of summoning in skin. You sought to save
me for yourself, to exorcise what haunts
my mental health, my hollows where you float
& hide — your human residue of wants
reside. A sarcophagus devoted,
you alone, renovated while you roam,
a haunted brothel made vacation home.