We’ve got something exciting to share! Poet, scholar, and fiction writer Carol Guess has granted us access to one of her poems from her latest collection Sleep Tight Satellite out now by Tupelo Press. The collection investigates the role of queer found family against the dizzying backdrop of increasing surveillance, police violence, and government austerity. Guess is a multi-hyphenate talent with multiple Lambda Literary Award nominations under her belt and we couldn’t be more excited to share this excerpt!
Fairy Tale Post-Quarantine Employee Reentry
from Sleep Tight Satellite
by Carol Guess
Once upon a time there was a terrible King.
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Every door has been rekeyed. Every lock takes a different key. Every key is a different shape and hangs from your hip on a chain that clatters when you walk down the windowless hall in search of gold coins.
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“What is this red and curious stain on the carpet? Could it be wine, tea, or the blood of an unsuccessful suitor?”
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You live with a wolf that has grown strangely attached. When you leave the wolf alone for the first time, it howls nonstop and your neighbors hurl curses.
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As you open the door and step into blinding sunlight, you see fires in the distance. Smoke smothers the hills. The maps are all outdated. You walk and walk, but everything remains as far away as before.
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Buildings have fallen into decay. Strangers pass silently, six feet apart.
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No one remembers your name. Or was your name always Handmaid, Woodsman, Witch?
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Sourdough breadcrumbs lead to a house in the woods. The house is made of candy and tastes like the fear of being followed.
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Everything is frozen in time, exactly as it was, except for the beanstalk growing from a can of coffee.
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You are given three tasks. After each task, you must stand in front of the Higher Ups and avert your eyes as they judge your prowess. With every failure, your circumstances become more dire.
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The ring glows just out of reach.
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Your boss drives a pumpkin-colored carriage and parks defiantly in the “No Parking” zone.
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The costumes at the masked ball keep changing. Everyone takes off their masks, puts them on again, removes them. The crowd’s a sea of gaping mouths, white teeth gleaming.
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Your coworker seems to be sleeping, eyes closed, hands folded on her chest, her face serene under the glass ceiling, so of course some guy kisses her without her consent.
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At night you toss and turn, unable to sleep, as if there’s a lump in your mattress or a lump in your throat.
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Trigger warning: the deaths in these stories will haunt you.
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You sense danger at every turn.
Make sure to check out Carol Guess’ new collection here!
