SAMANTHA MARTIN-BIRD
the star
i told the nishinaabe parliamentarian
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
i told the nishinaabe parliamentarian
tasting of pine, clear
breath of it
When you escaped, I cackled like I was
the one who fled
He won’t stay up
when I need him so I stay out late
Somewhere the lake’s shore
meets the overcast dark
You left and the earth bent your sorrow out of view.
I say, upon hearing the name, imma write
a poem with that title
Where has all the gone
Siphoned from your banks to trim with valuation
In my living room I have a painting of my living room.
Like each year, Maryann is soaking raisins