BIO: KRISTINE ESSER SLENTZ is the author of woman, depose (FlowerSong Press 2021). She is originally from northwest Indiana and the Chicagoland area. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing (poetry) from City College of New York (CCNY) where she is currently an Adjunct Assistant Professor. KRISTINE is a Pushcart Prize nominee, finalist in the Glass Poetry Chapbook and F(r)iction’s Flash Fiction Contests, recipient of a CCNY English Department Teacher-Writer Award, and former Rifkind Fellow and Poets Afloat resident. Currently, she is the co-founder and organizer/host of the monthly artist series, Adverse Abstraction, in NYC’s East Village.
we talked about Toronto once rain echoes between hills on the board of Kentucky $38 gave adjoining rooms relentless parking lot lamp queen bedrooms don’t hold tongues lie inside each other exhale morning’s smoky fog before riding back to Indiana *originally published in Goat Milk Magazine in July 2020 an extraordinarily intermediate trip become bite size hazy mist enters along bottom soft orange pink and blue but maybe mostly green more mint green – not neon sitting still then starts to glide to slow – quick space lie very stationary feel the ants rise above the ground and into hand next to burned mouth don’t worry they won’t hurt right away – that takes awhile close the sockets that hold eyes in feel the emotionlessness vibrate teeth nose knuckles ya know how pins do or lines turned to runny – away! that favorite place sink below the belt of upholstery with crispy leftovers attached to cotton mouth messes people hate that lifeless happiness ping of codependent debts circling some kind of blow jobs and carjacking waking up is a bitch. and so is the alaskan cold. but the money wife and responsibility is pleasant. *originally published in Cypress Press in April 2020 At* (t/w) *seventeen “you should have known better he has a kid” the reply i received from the first adult i trusted to tell “i was raped” *twenty-five “she’s an adult she makes her own decisions” the argument to abandon me from a false friend who should’ve helped “what happened to me” *Originally published in Rag Queen Periodical in August 2018 Practicing the Faith of the Indiana Grandma A voice stained with black Folgers and Misty cigarettes Maw-Maw begins her afternoon sermon to us, the stale boozed stench high school sophomores, on the benefits and pitfalls of early promiscuity – because that is a woman’s world after all. Granting this wisdom from a pressed-wood kitchen table, her deep crow’s feet scream through yellow tarnished glasses while passing no judgment on us when taking a 120 from her pack to help settle our last night’s tummies and growing minds. Imagining the smoke cleanses our witching hour choices in actions, she informs us about Tom’s Harry Dick, proper throwing up etiquette while at the neighbor’s house party, and this year’s Christmas dinner menu. She imparts nothing new to our ears but brass jokes and dirty tones that sink into our subconscious and superficially manic hearts, like her presence. In mocking unison, we spit into our dry palms to snuff out our enchanted drag. *Originally published by New Southern Fugitives in August 2019 lilly demons, lurking It’s true. Pacing back with delicate greed, I submit this heartfelt damage: I am a demon to you. The system knelt to us with a distorted masculine scent, feeling like a screw, we chewed its loops of ravaged mirrors. It’s true. Then the exposure of his paws risked torment into back-slide so that phantom pain trills and heavy vermouth became ritual. I am a demon to you. Twitching winged evils will always accrue here on earth with our grime-covered-blank-faces mimicking each other’s sins. It’s true. So, we feed drops of pain on to one another’s heart bulge, a cue that all subliminal souls are flagrantly mismanaged. I am a demon to you. Those devils are undaunted in subduing us humans. Every living being is just satan’s squirming baggage, it’s true. I am a demon to you. *Originally published in Bold City Literary Magazine in July 2018 I can’t stop laughing or saying oh my gosh how obvious are the extended nerves out beyond bodily memories & hold or phone calls – it was 20 minutes in and I learned of an ending marriage by of force and money on old types because we’re all criminals outside of Queens, right? Teach them our ways coded messages no one reads but other breakers working against constructed time or motion – eat bread today she will eat tragedy leave his manhattan apartment and walk 12 cement blocks to touch her lips on refined things sand, liquid poison, rocks she will sit there trying to escape love but two shots and lemon sucks who knew with light flashes regardless if snot stains regardless if gin stains lets talk about the wet bar endless pieces of vapor how nothing has real taste but isn’t what all of this is something we’ve created to fit or maybe to fix money to power we don’t have sucking on this lime or eat more to keep them happy yes, the lie has more or less happiness there’s still salt on my face makeup missing from my chin I’ll look away at some point thank Jim for the late love served up and then to the left by the to-go orders and fees type out the boundaries to set the scene damp tissue old muscles moist ropes crave wound blood scars bite out the –eaten aliveSince we're here alone and have all this time and my therapist thinks it's a good idea, Let's Make a Boyfriend List 1. Good dick and good morning texts (my therapist says this is from going unnoticed ((or perhaps too much noticed)) in my childhood) 2. Loves food that isn’t just beige (my therapist tells me this is from food scarcity in my childhood) 3. Can give quality time (my therapist says this is because my parents and partners didn’t give me time before) 4. Sees and encourages my talents (my therapist says I don’t see my own talents) 5. Respects my boundaries (says I don’t respect my boundaries) 6. Takes care of me – health/money (I struggle to take care of myself) 7. Is self-aware and continuing to grow (I am too self-aware to grow) 8. (Reader, if you’ve read this far you know where this is going) here we are in our moment uncaring of body or heat but will thank our souls later
Fevers of the Mind 