selected poems. spring 2016.
© 2016 Audra Martin
subtle
you permeate me,
a rush of menthol in my pores,
a chill in my bones from walking
in rain-soaked shoes, down stone streets,
in unfamiliar cities.
you are the stranger at the bar
that i discover pulled my hair
on the playground, full-circle,
the spinning barstool.
but rarely is anything new.
all i remember of 86th and 1st
the orange light of the street lamp was
terrifying and exhilarating, a new beginning
strangely reminiscent of the night the witch
prepared a wicked brew that sent me
spiraling down
december snow
the weather reported a chance of snow,
the first of the year.
too much time has past for you
to fully remember the struggles
of last winter, yet that first snowfall
always seems to come too soon
you were unprepared (as you should be!)
for that which was only predicted, which had
falsely promised days home from school or
unexpectedly buried your car
thousands of times before.
you’ve grown used to the disappointment
that pairs with this possibility;
implementing baseline precautions (a shovel, some salt)
but practically setting your alarm, just in case
because you’ve learned that nothing expected
truly is
ideas on the subway (about boys who shouldn’t matter)
she was overwhelmed by the fragility of it all.
there they were, 3,000 feet over london
and arguing
as if they, themselves, were the source of the never-ending rain
he was a vortex: simply being near him was to be left in his damage
and to love him was to accept that you would be different
than before, that the world as you knew it ceased to exist now
that he existed in it; the profound power of being enlightened
by that which you did not know before
there is a softness to his body and a sharpness to his tongue.
entire wars have been fought and lost and won
in the space between his teeth, his victories surrenders
there is something cruel about you
and the way you look at me like you see me
in a way that you don’t, like you’re blissful
and unaware that you’re screaming at a mirror.
your judgements get under my skin and i want you
to step inside me and wear me like a winter coat
i will keep you warm, broken boy
i will keep you warm
untitled everything
and you might think
that you mean something
but you
are nothing
compared to a dimpled boy
with hair like sand
who inexplicably cleaved
my life
in two.
confusion
i love the way your mind wraps thoughts
like ivy snaking through the fence outside
my childhood home in the middle of summer
tangling themselves tightly
in my veins.
blue and gray and yellow
when i think of you
i think of
blue,
and gray,
and yellow.
the pills,
my mind,
the balloon hung effortlessly
atop a cymbal
in the drumkit
you never helped carry
when i think of you
i think of
blue,
and gray,
and yellow
the color of your rug,
the color of my memories,
the color of your hair
in the moonlight
as you hover above
my half-sleeping frame
when i think of you
i see the colors and shapes
of the clouds,
the sun,
the sky
and i slip back into a universe
where every color has died.
natural
like the wind drags pollen to flowers
and the heart beats without initiation,
gravity pulls me towards you effortlessly.
like the first time i heart my favorite song,
before i knew i loved it,
or why,
you moved through me
but rarely is anything new
maybe that is why you visit me
in my sleep
and the wind outside my window at night
sings your name
longing
you wait.
you wait and you wait and you wait
and you wonder
if genetics can combine
in such perfect misalignment
then maybe your hips
can fit soundly
around my waist.
a poem for sarah
i cannot
promise you much
but i know
if i promise the universe
works tirelessly
to make your dreams come true
would you believe me?
opposition
he is light and you are dark. and i want to live in the shadows between you. his embrace envelops. you are a matchstick striking against me. i think you may burn me alive. he is safety, security, protection. calling when he promises. pulling me closer on train platforms. until i cease to exist in his arms. it always happens this way. he finds me and i lose me and i fight my way back. to the way you make me feel alive. you exist just below the surface of my skin. a lifesize splinter. each nerve in my body painfully aware of your presence.
toothfairy
when i was
y
o
u
n
g
my mother taught me to smile wide
and i have
come to learn
she meant
“be happy”
all I heard was
“keep your mouth shut”
matchmaker
please do not forget
when you struck your matchstick fingers
on my hips
you set me on fire
and started this war
barista
you linger on my debit card
and ask about my name
and i feel like you’re holding
my latte hostage until I
surrender a smile
ducktape girl
i’m afraid i don’t know how
to be inspired by good things
it’s like i don’t know how
to make something beautiful
out of something beautiful
i only know how to fix what is broken
on having sex with someone who plays guitar
you are
seven notes
six strings
five fingers
for tracing the
three corners of the triangle between my
two legs
alpha
my dog might think the sky is purple
because he can see things i cannot
and hear sounds i cannot
and always seems to know
when i could use a walk
or a nap. or honestly,
a good roll in the grass.
axis
(inspired by sarah gerard’s “binary star”)
why is it so hard to slow down
once you’ve started moving?
what law of gravity
governs momentum?
am i my brains own
binary star?
am i caught in my own orbit?
i can’t stop spinning.
present
the day after i met you
i told my cousins all about you
and showed them your picture
that way even if i never see you again
they will give you to me with
their tongues at christmas
constellations
i think you might be
a constellation –
luminous, god-like elements
in perfect alignment
to create the shape of a lion,
or a bull.
so excuse me,
for i’ve always been
a binary star caught up
in one orbit,
or another.
i fear the way
we might collide
to become a black hole
and get lost in each other
but not in a good way.
what poetry is becoming
i think i need to write
more than i need air
but breathing is in the present
and words have no timeline
my poems are my
past eyes
present hand
future soul
how i feel when men stare at me
be careful
the way you stare
at butterflies
blind
to metamorphosis.
she was once
in darkness,
isolation.
your admiration
will not erase that
only her wings
fly.
