Poems by Meredith Martin

Apology Two

Apology Five

Nothing Else



Apology Two


The more I read about you,

the more I want to take you apart.  


Not like the other people do,

hoping they can find the right way 


to re-arrange you so they feel whole again.

Not that. I want to leave you in pieces 


and string them up around the room,

watch the light come in. Listen to the sounds 


you might make when the wind comes.

I want to assume you were never whole, 


assume I am returning you to your natural state –

pre-meaning, pre-relationship. Wouldn’t that be better? 


The child before the mirror of his mother’s eyes,

The language before the language before the language.