Where the Fire Touches
When memory speaks, the woman listens.
Materials merge in desert tones, echoing
the bond of things, everywhere.
Paintings in which sky prevails
shine light in hidden places.
Sadness, like dust, lifts & swirls.
Horse shadows stumble us.
Rising from flames, female forms
topple walls, crash ceilings—
fierce with divine discontent.
Where the fire touches, dark wings
cast wide shadow in fissures, in cracks.
Becoming most themselves
in their beautiful ruin.
The woman is carried
by the surprise of her own unfolding
in this world she makes
again, and then again.
TERRY MARTIN used to be an English Professor. Now she’s beginning a new chapter of her life. She has published hundreds of poems, articles, and essays, and has edited journals, books, and anthologies. Her most recent book of poems, The Light You Find, was published by Blue Begonia Press. She lives and writes in Yakima, Washington—The Fruit Bowl of the Nation.