John Martin

laughing through grad school
(academic stuff) (hints of life beyond
school and work)
(Flying Moose videos, photos, stories, etc.) (observations)


I remember kneading,
her hands over my fists,
we cried passion into loaves
—giving, rising—
warm in golden fullness,
baking bran softly through the seasons.
I remember washing,
words wet fingers old,
we pulled crowns from proud berries,
stewed sweet in moist heat,
boiled blood to thick sugar.
Sealed with paraffin kisses.
Now she smiles empty,
eyes sigh leftovers
frozen in the Westinghouse.
And me—
I spread Shur-Fine
over Wonder,
forgetting daily prayers,
and grace.

-john martin 1998