I'm printing these two poems by Martha Marshall. She says it's okay to share them with you. I remember when she wrote these and shared them at one of our Right Bank meetings with me and Phyllis. I have a new appreciation for her words from the perspective of nine more years of experience. These were accepted for publication on an online site for creative writers. She's that. Creative. And a writer!


Out of Style

Skinny starved little girl saying magic words
Trying to make the bumps come up on her chest
Painting on Passionate Plum Sparkle nail polish,
checking her dance moves in the mirror.
She flips through Teen Scene magazine
for answers to "What is your Boyfriend's Pet Peeve?"
Stuffed toys and black high tops on the floor.

Platform Jellies are the coolest!

Adolescence in the shape of a goddess,
afraid she'll go out of control.
Her body pornographic,
she controls what she can,
refuses to eat.
Hollow cheeks and eye sockets ache for self love.
Spaghetti straps and flowing tie dye skirt,
combat boots and a blue streak in her hair.

She hates her legs.

New mother with stretch marks and burdensome breasts
daydreams of three-way mirrors yet fears them still,
A new pair of shades and fuck-me shoes
Will cure her depression.
Voluptuousness hides in yards of cloth
Afraid to reveal itself
now that the rented belly is vacated

Her body still feels like someone else's.

Middle age, nothing fits --
Dresses, rings, shoes, husbands, houses, dreams.
She feels betrayed, as if she didn't know already
The world would never be ready for her.
Still they tell her she "can get the body she deserves",
that the one she has just needs a little work.
She glimpses the naked mirror image,
longing to be cute

like his secretary.



Cat Man


The brandished razors and slits for eyes
were open for business.
The familiar perch inside her cage
offered little security.
She inched away, averting her glance,
feigning nonchalance.
His muscles softened as he
flattened himself on the rug,
never losing his bead on her,
pondering his next maneuver.
Nightmares said the time would come,
the door would be left open.
Brilliant plumage and arias
are no match for the predator.