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
The Peach Pit after Dark
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.
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.
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.