Carolyn Martin is blissfully retired in Clackamas, OR, where she gardens, writes, and plays with creative friends. Her poems have appeared in publications throughout the US and UK including Antiphon, Stirring, Naugatuck River Review and Persimmon Tree. Her second collection, The Way a Woman Knows, was released by The Poetry Box, Portland, OR, in February 2015. Carolyn served as president of VoiceCatcher from 2011-2014 and was the first managing editor of its online literary/art journal and its community website.
This poem is the first in a two-part series featuring Carolyn’s work.
And so the day begins with you
explicating last night’s dream
about the way she stroked your cheek
with her arresting smile and lured
you toward a dark-eyed kiss before
you fought her off explaining
it would be criminal beyond
the ordered bounds of law
because the fact is I’m downstairs
in muddy garden clothes and sleepy hair
waiting for your lips so I can ditch
my coffee cup and stubborn poem
to wage my outdoor chores
and you’re telling me you’re telling her
you never swore a vow or wear
a wedding ring but when stray nights
tempt you toward a luscious offering
you walk away you’re telling me
you are faithful even in your dreams.
[Previously published in The Wild Ones]