Tina Garvin Curtis

Tina Garvin Curtis is a creative force that emits poetry, essays, paintings, and photography. In addition to these emissions she is Art Editor of The Tishman Review. Her work has been published in Bird’s Thumb, The Furious Gazelle, The Offing, The Tishman Review, and others. She tweets @TinaMGarv

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The Peach Pit after Dark

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Pit implies a void a void suggests

darkness a recess, cavity, no place.

That baby has big hands. Moths beat

themselves against the screen door.

Night is just another name for Earth’s

crooked yawn and sometimes in our

sleep we forget to breathe. There,

beneath the dark is deeper dark.

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In Kolkata, the one percent wait out

the day to ride Lamborghinis through

near deserted streets. Still, the sacred

cow sleeps in the road sometimes. Still,

there is cancer in the void. That baby has

big hands. In Beverly Hills, in a California

studio, there is a, Peach Pit after Dark.

Where Brandon Walsh drinks Pepsi

through a straw. And tomorrow

does not exist yet.

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Bushmeat 2016

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My body burns the fields anew each night,

methodically yanks fiber from the buried root

and makes new. Makes finding the burrows

much easier when you burn the bush. Roost

the fat goanna from its hiding place. Lay him

in a coal hot furrow. Sugar has made us weak.

We come out here on pre diabetic feet to feel

the earth’s heat on our soles once more. Not

So far removed from our ancestry. We come

In our colorful Walmart pant suits and we are

sick but when we share bushmeat by open fire

light we go up up up with the ash and embers

into the sky we are light and nothing hurts.

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