Martin2

"His recent publications include 5th Gear, Bent Pin, Haigaonline,
Survivor Review, Bat Creek Review, 3Lights, and others. Martin won the
2007 Chenango Country Council of the Arts Individual Artist Award
(funded by the New York State Council of the Arts) and as a ppart of the
grant he is editing an poetry anthology about cancer. He is also editing
the hotmetalpress chapbok contest. His full length book of poems and
his artwork, "The Secret Language of the Universe" is available from
March Street Press, 2006.

For Karen
(For Carolina Sineni in memory of her daughter, Karen Fredricks)

1.

My feet are on the back railing over
looking the swamp of dragonflies.
Under the surface are pearls of frog eggs.
The breeze shifts uncertain temperatures,
needing a sweater or sleeveless summer blouse.
Intermittent showers are forecast by tarots.
My bare feet feel the rise and fall of degrees
sensing migration is over, air rippling sheets
moving the swamp surface as coverlets.
I could kick back like this forever
regardless in the uncertainty. I know it movements.
The sky moves quickly, grey or clearing.
I could set my watch by it, if I wore one.
It was a day like this that my daughter died.

2.

Was it really like this? I wonder still,
still as storks or crying tea cups full.
I hardly remember and that’s the worse of it.
Oh, sure, I still feel the sobbing in the breeze.
This is not as bad as the silences.
Days so quiet you can hear the flies on ceilings.
There is not one thing that I touch that has no memories.
The dishes with bluebell patterns will send a sound
when tapped, a low light gong of grief.
There is a china cabinet with the last cup she used.
There is a pillow case waiting to cup the pillow
covering her last sigh, her last release,
the stork low over the swamp surface
its wings almost dipping into its grey mirrored sky.

3.

Or was it something else again, some
thing different all together, the clearness
of dragonfly wings, the rail of redwood,
the toes dangling out, the air shuffling
like playing cards, her picture turned away
so I no longer have to recall how much I miss
her smile the white coverlet shook loose,
the stork abandoning its nest.

4.

Or was it still something else.
I try to remember what.
If I walk away from this moment,
it will not go away. The swamp can shine
reflecting those clear frog eggs, the air
can be tentative as your recovery,
the stork will glide past the moon
taking the moss from the Cyprus,
and this moment will remain
with or without her, will remain
if I recover or not, or drink cold tea,
or drift aimless as the swamp

Captive
(Based on a picture and is title by Florin Mihai)

In memory of Frances Willitts

A twig of willow deposited in tap water
with its stem a great promoter of healing.
Change is possible from this drink
releasing the hexagon bolt strangling my aorta

allowing freedom from depression
to mention your name

your voice
large as spots on the underside

of the wings
of a Tawny Owl butterfly.
I sip from the water, feeling better,
as if from bluebells.

Each Pebble in the Zen Rock Garden Tells Your Story
"Zen rock gardens both disarm and empower us."-- Unknown
(Linking Renga for Frances Willitts, 1946-2006)

The placement of stone
is important
as holding hands

the holding of stone
is important as cancer
in the garden of your lungs

the lungs of stones
are spots falsely placed
on a swallowtail's wings

wings of stone
darken, cancerously,
upon the lungs of the garden

the garden of pebbles
are hands
withdrawing good cells

cells of stones, darken brightly
in the Zen
by rock harden hands

hands of surgeons remove stones
reflecting on their cancer
as it alights, unfolding wings

touch is the garden,
placed as stones,
a monarch pulsating its wings

slippage is important:
wings enfold in drizzles
so as to not be heavy in flight

Fran's hands were slippery rocks,
too damp to lift, losing touch
finding the temporary welcoming

her voice in the stones,
in cocoons, wings leaving
& returning her last breaths

a paperclip
folds into butterfly wings
in Zen prayer

fingerprint whorls
are no two stones the same,
are no two similar galaxies

Koi are Chinese Junkets
with paper lantern sail
among stones of swirled planets

nets of stones catch you
as you thrash as Koi
gulping cancerous breaths

a road bends over a hill.
I can not see you
although you are there, waving.

you gulp pebbles, painfully,
your voice drowning
as you say you will be gone

cancer is a flying fish
escaping water & air
quiet as a garden of pebbles

Notes:
Tawny Owl or Memnon’s Owl, Caligo memnon
Central America to Venezula (Eye spots on underside resemble owl eyes)

Checkered Lime Swallowtail, Papilio demoleus
Persia to south China, Indo-Malaysian region, north Australia

Giant Swallowtail, Heraclides (Papilio) cresphontes
Northeastern USA to Central America

The swallowtail does not have "false eyes". Another butterfly that does is:
Blue Morpho, Morpho peleides
Central and South America (Noticeable for its eyespots on the underside)

The willow branch is used by herbalists and other natural medicine users.