Issue 27: Charlotte Geater

The 21st Century

where milk rains on sheep

the colour of snow & black

ice. i exited stage left

& right but couldn’t find

my way down to

you were kulning on hillsides

asphalt inside your shoes.

i wasn’t supposed to hear you.

your sheep ate thatch

from roadside shacks

until the whole city

was gone. hands

still organic rotting

in the fields

until a scientist can fix

what’s wrong with the code

that’s changing me.

my eyes are big grains. i whirr

inside a stuck watch. you sing

those unwords again

the sheep in my throat

come crashing across the rocks

this time. my stink of old rain.

i told you i’d write.

the ink barely shows on camera.

i slipped on a patch of ice

& fell thirty feet. the sheep

sunk down in their mud

& dreamt of hay.

hey where’s a trapdoor when you need it?

you shake the milkpan until a shape / this is


curds of hillocks / herds of

standing in an old ditch

a box of junkshop postcards

one hunk of cheese

the length of your hand


a fall. long before any pain. my other

ear is silent & glitters

wanting you to whisper iced tea

kisses / cracked walnut shell

my bloody ear in regular recital.

will the sleeper stop the leak.

bloodless this summer, wishing, i understood:

bloodletting as relief from trapped heat

having had so much redacted

i wonder about the addition of cold things

to balance the blood bank

another handful of silver earrings

will you sharpen a new piece of jewellery

crossed blades on my belly

spin backwards, summer ashes red

the fuzzy skin blushes & sweats

for tall glasses of ice and soda.

i prick my finger on each new stud.

let me tease out / a lab-grown confection

where did these burns come from

electric weather inside looking for

spires. dusting the green sky

iris clouds / another hatpin, stainless

a salt crystal at one end tastes

the way blood multiplies in rounds

(an old excavation, and not much was found)

when the heart wills it. our gemstone faces.

Charlotte Geater is based in London and has previously been published in Hotel, Spamzine, and Erotoplasty. She won The White Review Poet’s Prize in 2018.

Copyright © 2022 by Charlotte Geater, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.