Terry Martin
Retrieval
By flowing water
rough edges soften
and I come to remember myself.
Along the riverbed,
branching trees point
to the quiet passage of the moon.
Tonight, even cobwebs
vibrating silver in the air
invite notice.
This river smoothes me,
like one of its stones.
It turns and bends,
not letting me see
too far in the distance.
Current rushes over rocks,
circling boulders into vortex,
like the sizable eddy
in each of us,
the shape of loss, the
hurtling down, the
depth of it.
~Terry Martin
The Singular, the Solitary
This poem is for the singular, the solitary.
~Terry Martin
Not for bees hovering in whirring hives,
birds singing yellow, in pairs.
They thrive in the noise of belonging.
Not even for leaves,
who cluster when they fall,
borders fading to mulch.
No, this poem is for the only star
on the darkest night, the owl
folded high in the hemlock,
the last ember left glowing.
For the rock in the river,
glistening alone as the water chants
over and around its gray silence.
If you know the loneliness of stone,
this poem is for you.
About Terry Martin
An avid reader and writer, Terry Martin has published over 250 poems, essays, and articles and has edited both journals and anthologies. She lives in Yakima, teaches English in Ellensburg, and drives Canyon Road along the beautiful Yakima River, a commute which (most of the time!) helps her keep things in perspective.