top of page

Patriarchy’s Grief


She dreamed of 3 men and 3 falcons, dancing in mid sky,

descending, softly, to great standing power,

expansive fields catching their every wish.

Majestic birds heed their call, landing on shoulders of giants, holding Court.

A cacophony of indecipherable languages morph into sweet, terrible songs,

feathered bodies take fast flight,

floating above in circular formation,

6 eyes patiently survey taken ground.

Man offers another interlaced hands,

the proudest stepping up into aided loft, rocketing past natural flight

until air stops.

2 men peer skyward at falling flesh,

down at shattered bone.

Concern stands over foolish dreams,

hearts and feet, heavy as boulders,

downcast eyes dark with resolution.

Falcons float freely, perplexed at simple lunacy.

She stands distant watching them, grounded in forced perspective,

lifeless men and majestic birds of prey,

her heart soaring with hopes of reason

amid the stench of patriarchy’s grief.

April Marten, 2016


First land I am torn from,

mother’s womb.

Second land, breast.

Third, native land.

finally, laid to rest


April Marten, 2018


            Miami’s Moon                      


            We go there

            to the edge,

            escaping concrete heat,

            and she rocks us like babies

            with her waves of sound

            and rhythms tides,


            12 hours



            saline breath


            you are healed!

            of Your affliction,

            of Our inflammatory condition


            Atlantic pride,


            for a moment,


            we are ocean

            vast and fluid,

            celestial bodies call us back



            12 hours


            sends us out,

            spilling over,

            mean-cracked streets,

            spilling in,

            to small-box houses,

            waxing and waning,

            perpetual cycles,

            Ecstasy and grief.

           April Marten 2019

Last night in a dream

Weeping and gnashing

Two eye teeth fall into oblivion

April Marten, 2016

Deep Throats


They filed in behind her


5 little soldiers


citizens without rights


bending knees at the altar of governing bodies


heads bow


lessons commence


jaws lift


mouths open wide


macerated myths bubble up,


violent bile streams


deep down fledgling throats.

Restrained by silent stares,


bloated with foul,


full and void,


they file out




April Marten, 2018

bottom of page