Martin’s poetry has appeared in Calllope, River City Review,
South Florida Review, The Garden State, Green Mountains Review, Sinister
Wisdom, Connecticut Review, Earth’s Daughters, Sweet
Annie Press, The Centennial Review, and Friends Journal. She
also has work in the anthologies, Heartbeat of New England, My
Lover Is A woman, and the soon to be published Tail
Feather, and an anthology, Bridging New York.
non-fiction has been published in the Mystery Review, The Brattleboro
Reformer, Out in the Mountains, Foster Families and the Southeastern
Audubon Society newsletter. She has two
self-published books: Visible Signs of Defiance and Talking
to the Day.
In the body
Hard by my left hip the eagle lives,
wings unfurled, prepared for flight.
Passion lies in the curve of the beak,
a rending of live things into morsels of pleasure
small enough to digest. Through fierce eyes
I watch every moment and seize
them close to the breast. So much
do I want to live high among rugged cliffs.
So much do I need to be strong
with wind, sun bright: overlooking
tiny birds, their multiple wings fluttering.
It is this you love the falling
the returning wingcurled, featherlight.
One glance is enough for traffic, fifthfloor tenements,
bridges going down. The ear turns inward
away from explosions powdering the earth.
Surely the sky is empty enough to roam.
We need only our hands to hold on, fly with the eagle’s
great wilderness where we belong.
It is this you love lush valleys,
the whole damn world of ourselves
up and asking. Within the hips
an eagle moves. How much you take to yourself
means more than how far. Touch
is in the coming, hunting for whatever moves.
It is this you love talons to
grip bare branches,
the possibility of soaring