On Union Street by Martha Christina

I turn to the garden,
seeking temporary relief
from the continuous news
of so many people hurting
each other in so many ways.

I kneel behind the fence
to weed among the hostas;
through the space between
pickets I can see, but not
be seen. A man, a stranger,

stops to let his dog sniff the
maple. He’s young, his hair
an artificial orange, his T-shirt
bright purple, his arms heavily
tattooed in those same colors.

He also holds the hand of a
young girl, who might be his
daughter, sister, niece, friend.
She looks to be about 4, and
she listens with the attention

of one who values this man’s
words: You want to be around
people who are good to each
other he says. The dog tugs
its leash, and they move on,

leaving me still on my knees,
but uplifted, for now.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal's Pollinator Project. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press).