Bark By Maria Llona Garcia


I bare my teeth and spit
out words I put together
just to cut.
My jaw locks
like a dog’s. When I bite
down I can’t let go,
even if I change
my mind.
And I’m bad
at cause-and-effect and
constantly sorry. I’m
still holding you between
my jaws.
Before I can open
my mouth you’re dead
or at least hurt
and we’re dead.
And maybe
that’s what I wanted anyway.

By Maria Llona Garcia


Maria Llona Garcia is a 24 year old Peruvian poet and occasional prose writer. She recently graduated with a degree in English from Skidmore College, where she was awarded their section of the Academy of American Poets Prize. She currently lives in her hometown of Lima, Peru and teaches English while also working as a newsletter editor. This fall she will begin studying for an MFA in Poetry at The New School.

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