Poetry by Carolyn Martin

               ​Rob LeBer CC



Four Cheers for the Colloquial

Listen up. Everyone knows you don’t have 
to have a Ph.D. to fill in the blanks.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had problems of my own.
Such a shame, my mother says. Like it or not,
she never saw it coming. In fact – come
to think of it – I couldn’t believe it myself.
I’m the type of person who’s been there, done that.
It’s not brain surgery, for pete’s sake. 
You know what I’m saying? If you do, 
give me a call. Let’s chat about “for better
or for worse.” What it really means is hanging
out somewhere on a slippery slope.

​



For my friend’s neighbor who drove me to Walmart 
to buy a battery for my Honda’s key fob

I could not forgive you for the one-use mask 
lying on your dash without apology.

I could not forgive your objection to gays who talk
about their lives outside work during lunch breaks.

I could not forgive your whining about blacks 
who ignore opportunities offered by this “great” country.

I could almost forgive you for making me bite my tongue
beneath my red mask and not fight back.

I could almost forgive you because the history you think
you know makes you feel better about your own.

I could forgive you because you had kind eyes and set
aside packing up your home for my minor emergency.

I could forgive you when I learned your son killed
himself a week ago and moving is escape.

I forgive you because you taught me other
tragedies live side by side with distorted history. 

​



Ice Storm

At first     it seemed improbable
We’ve been duped    before     storm
warnings     fizzle     snow-fears
dissolve     into nothing     much
But this time      ice   upon
ice     upon ice    We groused 
God-disturbers that we are 
as power lines     sagged     limbs     snapped
heavenly bamboo     prostrated     itself      on the ground
During unchosen     cloistering
we recharged phones     in idling cars
and buried food     in the frozen yard
fretted over     feral cats     ground thrush
and anxious squirrels     that disappeared
Yet how could we      with our gas fireplace  
and stove      complain     when tents and tarps
scattered on     our highways’ slopes  
couldn’t hold     rough sleepers’ body     heat
or when we learned     four lives had choked
on poisoned air     eight more died     in nursing homes
After the melt     we’ll celebrate     the brutal beauty of ice
for protecting     communities of crocuses
for heaving beds     of warming fir     over jasmine vines
for forcing us     to contemplate     as we stutter-stepped through
the dark     lives beyond     the micrometer of our galaxy

​

From associate professor of English to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin has published poems in more than 130 journals throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. She is currently the poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal for global transformation. Find out more about Carolyn at www.carolynmartinpoet.com.

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