the art of domesticity

by Kathrin Köhler

He's never hit her
full across the face, splitting lip and tearing mouth
cracking her jaw like an egg for breakfast.

He's never pinned her to the wall
the blade of his forearm pressed to her throat.
But she looks good in blue.

What I'm saying is
I've seen vultures strip the flesh from carcasses
more tenderly and more lovingly,
flies gathering, ripped skin flapping
soft as rose petals splattered with rain.

What I'm saying is
I don't know how to say this:
He bathes in her blood every night.

---

Kathrin Köhler is a poet who has picked up the bad habit of writing fiction. Work of hers has appeared in Goblin Fruit and is forthcoming in Strange Horizons. Kathrin is interested in the influence and power of narrative in constructing our understanding of reality. She enjoys being outside and is often gardening or wandering looking for toadstool rings.

Read Kathrin's discussion of this poem over at the Roundtable!

Photography: DSC_6176.jpg by Sara Lando.