document every orchid
a woman swam out of my sugar
snuffed out like a cigarette butt shoved
against the dirt of a potted plant
smell the softness
touch everything lightly
my words pass for nothing
that they really are
can you feel it when i breathe out water?
does night really entail darkness
for everything you see?
prune a rose after every cluster of five
if it doesnít have five try three
or four or even six
but never a grouping of two
orchids require feeding
that scares me i know
iíll forget the time the day
and find it brown from hunger
mother, do those pills still give you an electric ripple?
(a shake you can no longer dispel)
Stephanie Martz is an artist and writer who received her MFA from California Institute of the Arts in Valencia California. Her poetry and writings have been published in the online journals [com]motion magazine, poemeleon, Glasstire and in the print art magazine ArtLies. Her artwork has been exhibited throughout the U.S. and will be featured in the upcoming issue of the literary art journal Word For/Word. She currently lives, works, teaches, reads, writes and makes art in Houston Texas.