[Table of Contents]



Maria Martin



Even though I am in Paris, I have found time
to write this poem by Richard Louis Garcia.
I love Paris. And even though I would like
to go out into the aubergine night
and show my support to the women dancing
the cancan and to their rustling skirts,
I will first write this poem, as I am Richard Garcia,
the poet.  Sure, I would like to make myself available
at a sidewalk cafe until some pleasant stranger
takes me by the hand and leads me
back to her room, but I cannot do that
until I have finished this poem.
I have been like this my whole life.
I wrote my first poem when I was just a kid
after the skull in my closet bit my foot.
I asked my mother about the skull,
and she said I shouldn't have been out of bed.
But I wasn't tired. I was a pirate on a flying ship,
and no one could catch me. I slipped in and out
of dark houses growing richer all the time.
I can find rings in the dark with my eyes closed.
That is one of my tricks. If anyone sees me,
they assume I am sleepwalking
and send me back to my bed.
And that is how I became a poet.
And that is how I came to Paris.




Maria Martin is an asset.
Maria Martin is welcome like the breeze.
She is the sunlight dancing on the ocean.
She is the smile on the face of a sleeping child.
Many people are saying that they would like to be more like Maria Martin,
but they don't have the countenance.
We drink to Maria Martin.
We lie awake at night and think about Maria Martin.
Behold! Maria Martin has arisen.
Behold! Maria Martin brushes her golden hair.
Her golden hair which heretofore has not been replicated by human hands.
Maria Martin sweeps benevolently into the kitchen.
The clock stops for Maria Martin, who has never been late for work.
Lo! Hear the children joyfully singing.
Methinks Maria Martin may be passing gently by.
There is a bit of Maria Martin in all of our hearts.
Possibly she is among us right now.
Probably she is the reason we have succeeded thus far.
Somebody should say something to Maria Martin,
ere she continues on, and takes with her all the world's sweetness
like a buzzard who plucks out the eyes of its prey.
The great, gleaming eye of the world rests upon Maria Martin,
begs Maria Martin to sing on.






Richard Garcia is my poetry teacher and dad. He has led a poetry workshop in his home for more than 20 years and I joined them around 10 years ago. My first poem by him began during one of his workshops. We each answered some questions about personal preferences, facts, and childhood memories, then traded answers and wrote a poem in the other person's voice. And that is how I wrote this poem by Richard Garcia. 

My other poem, "About the Author", is completely autobiographical. Some people think it is tacky to draw attention to yourself, and that you should wait around for other people to notice all your fine qualities. Well I already tried that. This poem was written after a particularly painful job loss. Richard challenged me to include some words from this wordlist on [the phrontistery] which made me laugh and laugh.