Sara Michas-Martin

Chronic things like pleasure

and fog came up fugitive around me.

Your experience,

was it so different?

Chevron, Indian River Medicine, Murdockís, Stop

we stole many signs

and flower baskets and orange cones and the Dairy Queen graphic.

We should have known better than to laugh.

We owned our gravity

and the chance to cry openly around a guitar. Or was it

like mistaking the sound of wind

for waves at high altitudes. Iím not sure.

The lake today is clear to the bottom.

Giant carp race under the boat

like apparitions

like memories of carp.

Sara Michas-Martin lives in San Francisco and teaches creative writing at Stanford and Goddard College. Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the American Poetry Review, The Believer, Denver Quarterly, Harvard Review, jubilat, and elsewhere. Read more at

  fiction    poetry    "fact"    photography
masthead      guidelines