Some days like this: a stainless
steel sky, rough water, gusty winds,
gulls refuse stale bread. But today
they’re ravenous and quarrelsome.
I watch from the car, my eyes on one gull.
Insistent on its space, it repeatedly warns
the others off. It attacks and defends, eats
and eats more, completely in the present.
In my fifth grade classroom with its
pastel maps and illustrated books,
I dreamed myself out of the heartland,
into New England, this space and time.
The gull continues its posturing,
its threatening gestures, its eating.
I watch in the present we share,
here, for whatever time remains.
Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal’s Pollinator Project. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.