Poems

Semi-Aubade

          In the morning I make coffee
& bring my wife half a glass
of orange juice
          which is what she wants   It’s
half full   not half empty   I know
because I poured it
          & by the time I get upstairs
the full glass I poured for myself
is half empty
          With or without the tangy pulp on
my tongue   I’ve always had trouble
with that half full   half empty thing
          since I’m not particularly
optimistic about Gloria’s OJ   or
pessimistic about my own
          One or the other of us will pour
two black coffees   which we savour
& are thankful for
          even when they’re half gone
     thankful for the half
we’ve already had
     & thankful there’s still half to go
          Either way   my cup runneth over
 
The preceding poem first appeared in CRUX, and won first place for Poetry in the 2021 Word Awards.
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& (ampersand)

          What I love about the ampersand is its compactness
& the way it’s open to new—& unexpected possibilities
almost forming an eternal figure eight—but not quite
for when the sentence seems to be over
or approaching its end—the ampersand appears
like the first of a hundred thousand well-armed angels
emerging from the backseat of a Volkswagen—& improbable hope
erupts—like a new sunrise—sharply piercing the skin of dark night
with radiating shards of light
& despite the smug sleep—of the ninety nine sheep
when the wanderer’s gone—the good shepherd appears
with it draped across his shoulders—& the lost coin
is swept from the cobwebs
& the prodigal stumbles home—where his father watches
& waits—& refuses to lose hope—scanning the horizon
for his returning son—& then he grabs the hem of his garment
& runs—& it’s then we recognize the continual pattern
of conflict & resolution—of estrangement & reconciliation
& even of death & resurrection
a pattern that is by no means inevitable—but woven
like the arms of a twisting ampersand
into the fabric of the universe

The preceding poem first appeared in Sojourners, and was the winner of the 2017 Higher Goals Awards for Poetry from the Evangelical Press Association. It also appears in D.S. Martin’s collection Ampersand (2018, Cascade Books).
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The Sacrifice of Isaac

God told Abraham—Kill your son for me—& they
climbed Mount Moriah so there would be a great
distance of rock—cloud—shadow & light to be sliced in
two—& the perplexing covenant might come to mind as
you stare toward the blue horizon

The knife seems to fall forever
as Abraham (looking like an old man Rembrandt
frequently sketched) palms the bound youth’s face
with a large determined hand to shield him from the
sight

The knife seems to fall forever
giving you time to think of bloody Passover—of Jesus
as sacrificial lamb—of what kind of god would ask so
much & what kind of father could do it (as a
windblown angel seizes the old man’s wrist)

Then you notice the eyes—bloodshot & observant
of a ram caught in a thicket—This is no happy ending
Three centuries after Rembrandt
the knife still falls

This poem first appeared in Christianity & Literature, and has appeared in the anthologies Imago Dei (2012, Abilene Christian University Press), and The Turning Aside (2016, Cascade Books). It comes from D.S. Martin’s poetry collection Poiema (2008, Wipf & Stock).