Poetry by Blair Martin

     Dane CC




A Tendril & Two Nasty Peas in a Pod

I’m 6 to 8 years old, because 
who concentrates on birthdays 
in these circumstances?

Snapping shut the cobalt suitcase’s 
faux leather shell. Gold latches, scuffed 
shoes shuffling the garden’s dirt.

Back by the well, at the edge of our land. 
His land & her land, to be precise, 
because I can’t own what isn’t shared.

The whole world—the neighbor’s field
—a footfall away. Despite my luggage, 
I’m too light to take that step. 

Or maybe too heavy: bogged by 
the blue, the pink of my trauma. 
Last year’s weeds trip, taunting me.

I dig a hole, curl myself 
up into a seed, bury in the fresh 
manure. The flower’s bloom

dries to brown rattling packets, 
which loft and fade in fall’s winds.
I’m housed but I’ll never be home.

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Blair Martin grew up on a small farm in Lancaster County, PA. They received their PhD in Clinical Psychology from Bowling Green State University and teach at Joliet Junior College as a professor of psychology. They are participating in the Lit!Commons community with the Loft Literary Center.
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