Copyright Amelia Martens 2016
FIRST EDITION
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission of the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Martens, Amelia.
[Poems. Selections]
The spoons in the grass are there to dig a moat: prose poems / by Amelia Martens. -- First edition.
pages; cm
eISBN 978-1-941411-24-7
I. Title.
PS3613.A77773A6 2016 811’.6--dc23
2015027058
Cover design and interior by Kristen Radtke.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Sarabande Books is a nonprofit literary organization.
This project is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.
The Kentucky Arts Council, the state arts agency, supports Sarabande Books with state tax dollars and federal funding from the National Endowment for the Arts.
for Britton
for Thea and Opal
CONTENTS
The Apology
A Field
We Will Be Long Gone
Postcard from The End
Free Time
Marathon
Pre-Alice
Already at War
Dear Brian Turner
Shoreline
Bedtime
When People Look to the Sky
In the First World
In God’s Country
B-I-N-G-O
Don’t Miss Our Mower and Tractor Spectacular
Direct Contact
Baggage
In the First World
In the Land of Milk
A Hundred Miles from the Border
Morning Girl
And Then the Idea of Weeds
Late Night Comedy
Collection
In the Days before Thanksgiving
Pluto Was a Planet
Tuesday
Union
Forecast
The Prince of Peace Is Herding Sheep
Inexplicable Universe
Localized Extinction
In the Country of Neutrality
Wednesday
Coming Forth to Carry Us
Routine
We Ask for Five Minutes
The Robin Pulls a Thread
Almost Biblical
Historical Accuracy
Pink Pigs and Orange Horses
Dust
Postcard from The End 2.0
Newtown
Disney Daughter Dead, 2013
The Secret Lives of Cows
Middle America
Birth Day
Heartwood
In the First World
Pen Pal
They Shoot People, Don’t They?
Magicicada
And the apology I made for you came from a willow tree. From a lemon. From some mud I found in the living room. Our daughter thinks you are a giant. She asks you to lift the house, so she can put her dolls in timeout. There is a crack in the back of my mind and I am filling it up with forget-me-nots and sailor’s knots and do nots. There is a place behind my retina where I am fragile. If I see a sun, if I see a squid, if I see something shiny, I should pick it up. I should turn my head. I should stop watching you while you sleep because I am going to wake you up. I am going to wake up. I am sorry and you have gone to buy more mousetraps.
Once upon a time there was a fly. Once upon a time there was an ache shaped like a sunflower, at least to the eye. Once upon a time a field lay down in a patch of gods and got shot through the gut with cotton and wheat. Once upon a time all grass was seagrass and we swam, serrated by the blades of all known light.
By the time Earth is pulled into the sun. No, this won’t happen while you are asleep. Not tonight. Those are crickets. Yes, they have wings. The sound comes from their legs, like violins. Not violence. Close your eyes please. The sun is on the other side of the world because other people need day. Because we need night. Because that is how your body is made. Yes, your body is magic. Close your eyes please. The sun that went into your eyes, into your skin, into the ground today, will come up tomorrow. Yes, I’m pretty sure there are others. The moon is not the sun. Yes, they might be married. Goodnight.
The
