"David Martinez is like an algebra problem invented by America—he's polynomial, and fractioned, full of identity variables and unsolved narrative coefficients. . . .
Hustle
is full of dashing nerve, linguistic flair, and unfakeable heart."—Tony Hoagland
The dark peoples with things:
for keys, coins, pencils and pens our pockets grieve.
No street lights or signs,
no liquor stores or bars,
only a lighter for a flashlight,
and the same-faced trees,
similar-armed stones and crooked bushes staring back at me.
There is no path in the woods for a boy from the city.
I would have set fire to get off this wilderness but Palomar is no El Camino in an empty lot,
the plastic dripping from the dash and the paint bubbling like a toad's throat.
If mountains were old pieces of furniture,
I would have lit the fabric and danced.
If mountains were abandoned crack houses,
I would have opened their meanings with flame,
if that would have let the wind and trees lead my eyes or shown me the moon's tiptoe on the moss—
as you effect my hand,
as we walk into the side of a Sunday night.
David Tomas Martinez
has published in
San Diego Writer's Ink
,
Charlotte Journal
Poetry International
, and has been featured in
Border Voices
. A PhD candidate at the University of Houston, Martinez is also an editor for
Gulf Coast
.