Martin's lines are a brief as breath, and cloister us at home, in winter, where the tiny everyday ministrations of love and parenthood are magnified and abundant with meaning.
I wanted to tell you somethingAbout the shipwreckOf fatherhood, of motherhood, the coarseSugar leaving usShook. Soft wreck of the babyGreeting each kissWith an openAnd drooling mouth, reflexWe don't understandHeart-blip stuckTipping my fingerOn the keys, speedingMemory of yesterday outThe window I'mPushing barely open
Chris Martin is the author of American Music (Copper Canyon, 2007) and Becoming Weather (Coffee House Press, 2011).
