Charlotte Knight



the poet

Charlotte Knight is a British-Ukrainian poet, studying a Masters at Goldsmiths College. She is a New Poets Prize winner (2021) and has been commended in the National Poetry Competition (2019). Her work has previously been featured in Magma, SPAM, Lighthouse Journal, and Perverse, amongst others. Her forthcoming pamphlet Ways of Healing will be out with Smith|Doorstop in June 2022.

the poems

[Insert Sappho Reference]

00:00 / 01:44

pour wine over this white goat

or like hunt me for sport oh baby

love a long fusillade of mistakes

burning holes in my new purple furs

love a frenetic chasing why do i have

four legs or love a fecund horn sounding

and me and my pheromones so very

tangible you can smell them

in the cheese like the things you awoke

in me your head a bunch of violets

my lap a goat’s lap can i collect this

as a sadness can i carry this hurt

in a basket specifically woven

for the occasion can i be exiled

is there an island for heartbroken

goats why am i bleating when i say

[insert sappho reference] i mean i get it

we have all loved somebody

with the knowledge that they won’t

love us back i mean i don’t get it

i am a goat why am i crying

Hell is Real

00:00 / 01:44

Travelling southbound on Interstate 71, motorists pass a sign which reads

HELL IS REAL. It stands in a plowed field and serves as a reminder to all

God-fearing farmhands that they must indeed fear God. I am not so easily

influenced, I could never be a farmhand for the Lord. In fact, I frequently

shoplift and have thoughts about holding hands with you in public spaces.

The HELL IS REAL sign is one of many roadside prophecies erected in the

midwest. Amongst others, there is Jesus Saves, Jesus save My Soul, I Need u Jesus.

I do not believe in Jesus, but I do believe in believing. And though I could

never be a farmhand for the Lord, I have to love Him. Look at all the signs

He gave us.

Singing Before I Drown in a River in Denmark

00:00 / 01:44

mermaid-like and incapable

of my own distress i collect

flora from the riverbank

looting a natural ecosystem

hoping to one day be framed

in gold

i carry my losses with me

every flower a symbol

how foxgloves are death

how cattails innocence

how pansies are love

in vain

how you you held me

always obscured

in dark corners

like with nature

how easy to say

we are separated

tall grass


no waves

no waves

a tributary husband

we were subject

to bursting banks

breaking boughs


mad with grief

singing for you

till my muddy death

how easy to say gone

Publishing credits

S h a r e