As evening sneaks around
the house,
the ironing board and
kitchen sink gossip about
your first kiss.
Inexplicable –
how they understand
the weight of soft,
the intimacy
of wind-brushed clouds; how,
in this chartreuse spring,
you’ll leave behind
your baseball glove for moony moods
and un-chewed fingernails; how
you’ll charge
summer’s quickenings
with shattered
beliefs of black and white.
Tonight, as the board folds itself
and the last dish is washed,
the owl clock hushes
their surmise.
If you had overheard, you
would have entertained
their slivered truths,
perhaps cheered their prophecy.

—

From English teacher to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin has journeyed from New Jersey to Oregon to discover Douglas firs, months of rain, and perfect summers. Her poems and book reviews have appeared in publications throughout North America and the UK including “Stirring,” “CALYX,” “Persimmon Tree,” “How Higher Education Feels,” and “Antiphon.” Her third collection, Thin Places, was released by Kelsay Books in Summer 2017. Since the only poem she wrote in high school was red-penciled “extremely maudlin,” Carolyn is ​still ​amazed she has continued to write.