Blair Martin

2 Poems

Of All of Nature’s Leaves, Envious

most of autumn’s vibrant

declining; the toasted oranges,

gentle browns & cranberry reds.

More photogenic than the fuzzy

budding of spring, the firm green

in summer’s heat, the slumps

of winter’s decomposing.

Not so though for many humans;

we, especially in the white West,

crave only the new, freshly

unfurled youth of May.

Here, in the summer of my life,

may I welcome the fall’s graying,

spotting, wrinkling. May I treasure

the ache that remembers spryness.

When the chill and I acquaint,

may I gather myself in a cozy

blanket & pour a cup of tea,

leaves falling down.


Two Months Have Passed

Cleaning out your studio,

my fingers linger on a tube

of ultramarine oil. You’d swirl it

with turpentine to paint washed

seashore waves, sky blues.

I hoist it towards the bin; my palm

curling ‘round. The crinkled aluminum

contours in a curve. My eyes well

& brim over at your hand’s imprint.

You squeezed mine when we dug

clams on the beach. Sand, sunburn

for days. An unmoored canvas.


Blair Martin grew up on a small farm in Lancaster County, PA. They received their PhD in Clinical Psychology from Bowling Green State University and teach at Joliet Junior College as a professor of psychology. They are participating in the Lit!Commons community with the Loft Literary Center.

Blair Martin

2 Poems

Of All of Nature’s Leaves, Envious

most of autumn’s vibrant

declining; the toasted oranges,

gentle browns & cranberry reds.

More photogenic than the fuzzy

budding of spring, the firm green

in summer’s heat, the slumps

of winter’s decomposing.

Not so though for many humans;

we, especially in the white West,

crave only the new, freshly

unfurled youth of May.

Here, in the summer of my life,

may I welcome the fall’s graying,

spotting, wrinkling. May I treasure

the ache that remembers spryness.

When the chill and I acquaint,

may I gather myself in a cozy

blanket & pour a cup of tea,

leaves falling down.


Two Months Have Passed

Cleaning out your studio,

my fingers linger on a tube

of ultramarine oil. You’d swirl it

with turpentine to paint washed

seashore waves, sky blues.

I hoist it towards the bin; my palm

curling ‘round. The crinkled aluminum

contours in a curve. My eyes well

& brim over at your hand’s imprint.

You squeezed mine when we dug

clams on the beach. Sand, sunburn

for days. An unmoored canvas.


Blair Martin grew up on a small farm in Lancaster County, PA. They received their PhD in Clinical Psychology from Bowling Green State University and teach at Joliet Junior College as a professor of psychology. They are participating in the Lit!Commons community with the Loft Literary Center.