Read a Poem

Return to this page each month for a different poem by D.S. Martin.


Cercis Siliquastrum

From within the alabaster skull of a man
better off unborn
throbs the pressure of regret
The hand that dipped into the bags
--------that dipped bread in the dish
--------that reached for bloody stars
now scatters to the ground a silver constellation
for the burial of aliens
& strangers

Too late --No return --Too late The garden’s salty kiss of blood
stains his lips --ripe

like Zechariah's prophesy
as the spikenard of devotion --He grasps
for consolation in the word friend
Bloody blossoms hang
from the cursed Judas Tree

— D.S. Martin

(This poem first appeared in Studio)