go outside and play
turned into locked doors and
space away from
yelling at one another. mama
looks out the front window. nods
as she sees me tearing up grass
water hose from its roots
baptisms in summertime
like swine drip mud,
punishment and pleasure.
forbidden
from creek beds, snuck towards her
anyway, could smell her
in my sleep, whispering
come away with me and i will feed you
crawdaddies and salamanders.
sneak them home for profanity.
mama laughed when they were the
only kind of living left.
Tea Time
Hillary Martin grew up in the rural south and attended Tennessee Tech University where she received her BA. She currently resides in Oakland, CA where she is working towards an MFA in Poetry at California College of the Arts. Previous work can be seen in Poetry Leaves, Clarion, West Trade Review, and Red Earth Review.
Website: hillarymartin.org Twitter: @hillybm Instagram: Here!