FIVE POEMS by FRANCESCA KRITIKOS
SPUTNIK
I come from a long line of women
who love Soviet drugs
who know dancing
is only something you can do alone
who are so, so good
at scratching backs
& singing
on command
Two fingers in my mouth
don’t make me gag anymore
I always remember
who I’m working for
There’s nothing like having a man
to trust
No, there’s no drug
like a man to trust
A GOOD KING
Silence can be forgiveness or its opposite,
so it becomes the place I stay. Looking in the mirror
I see the black fly in every still-life, forever waiting
for the painted fruit to spoil. Time to eat.
I miss strawberry lemonade, glazed steaks of red velvet,
the way I used to take hits of sugar like kisses.
Taunted by all of the meals I once craved:
This is how God first reveals himself to me. A good king
knows how to keep what he owns. Now all I want
is to hear what Paul Thomas Anderson whispered
into Fiona Apple's ear to make her cry in public.
But I have a feeling I've heard it all before. A good king
knows how to keep what he owns. In the morgue
all of the undigested food will be scraped with sharp
chrome from my stomach, and this will be
my final embarrassment.
BELT
Hard to learn to talk
at the end of privacy
The world is my stage
and I want to be dragged off of it
emptied of blood
just whitespace and unspeaking
unable to say YES or NO
when the alternative is
every word I say
heavy with semantics
that aggregate
without me, despite me
like the burning
metallic noise
of a man standing
behind me
unbuckling
his belt
SUMMER
Breakfast
in the garbage
Eggs
over easy
Toast
& fig jam
Sex
on American
flag
beach towels
Going through motions
that sometimes feel good
Police cars line up
across the street
Please come out
of the house
a policeman says
through his megaphone
& I wonder
what is happening
but only for
a little bit
I GET ACRYLICS TO MAKE MYSELF MORE CAREFUL
I get acrylics to make myself more careful
with these hands
now I can’t make my little fists
or cum into my own palm
Patient tongues never burn
I can't taste anymore
but I still swallow,
I'll always swallow
All of my possessions
get one chance
not to disgust me
or, I mean,
one chance to make me forget
I disgust myself
Francesca Kritikos (she/her) is the editor-in-chief of SARKA, a journal and publisher focused on works of the flesh. Her books of poetry and prose include “SWEET BLOODY SALTY CLEAN” (Feral Dove, 2023), “In the Bed of Sickness” (Pitymilk Press, 2023), “Exercise in Desire” (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2022), and “Animals Don't Go to Hell” (Bottlecap Press, 2021). Her writing has appeared in English and Greek in Blue Arrangements, Hot Pink Mag, The Quarterless Review, Dream Boy Book Club, ITERANT, Hobart, Wonder, Blush Lit, Spectra, Hartis, and elsewhere. She has recently been interviewed for the Chicago Reader, Tyger Quarterly, and Nothing in Particular.