The Zingara Project

Tag: Carolyn Martin

  • Tethering by Carolyn Martin

    Be tethered to native pastures even if it reduces you
    to a backyard in New York.
    – Henry James

    This morning’s rain kept me inside
    and I swear I heard weeds in my flower beds cheer
    and aggravated birds crackle in the neighbor’s cherry tree.

    More natives to add to the cats, squirrels, moles,
    and slugs rough-shodding the yard;
    not to mention maples, moss, firs, and perennials seasoning.

    But my landscape is running out.
    I may have to track down the Polish pasture
    where my grandmother plowed courage and tears

    or search out my Russian father’s New York flat
    which, if memory serves, lacked a bathroom
    and stove, not to mention a hint of yard.

    This morning’s news might reduce me
    to nabbing images from a Mars volcano flow
    or the Deep Solar Minimum of our quieting sun

    or the 17-year-locusts resurrecting again.
    So much life happening beyond my kitchen table
    and the tethered views I bank my poems on.

    And yet … yesterday I watched errant robins ignore
    earthworms to dine on suet cake while my lone iris bulb –
    its first time out – exploded into purple-black magnificence.

    And it’s true I’ve yet to find words for how
    summer breezes train lily leaves to wave at me
    or why the brightest star in the western sky comforts my nights.

    Always more, Nature whispers, from the corners of my yard.
    Of course! I cheer, startling the song sparrow performing
    her signature piece from a dripping dogwood tree.

    —

    From associate professor of English to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin is a lover of gardening and snorkeling, writing and photography. Her poems have been published in journals throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. She is currently the poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal for global transformation.

  • Overheard by Carolyn Martin

    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.