Phobic

Fine
feathered words,
glittering ballroom lights,
midnight passes and I find
my handsome Prince, His
fingers handcuffed around
my ankle, prison bar arms.
Have I swapped one dusty
jail for the kingdom come of
coupledom?

Leave me untamed,
uneven, odd, hopping
for my life down
the street.

Girl

At what stage did she get lost,
a stone, a couple of pounds less in the mirror,
letters unopened on the mantelpiece.

Decisions now made by him, she glances over
to get approval. No dresses or skirts now,
jeans and occasionally lipstick for going out

where they sit in a corner, two glasses of Guinness and
excuses to leave. Her friends continue the night
without her. Sighs, out the door

walking two steps behind him.

Rise

I am green, unseen,
unloved, camouflaged.
Lithe, limbs like blades,
finger twigs, hair of wreaths.
I am green eyes bud tears.
Scars like rings, old as oak,
young as Spring

^

Biography

Orla Martin is from Galway but is currently based in Luxembourg. Her publications include N.U.I.G. magazine Alpha '89, Cuirt Poetry Journal '98, the womens' anthology of poetry Jumping the Bus Queue 2001, the Cathal Bui 2001 anthology of poetry and Suburb magazine 2002. She had a short story published The Cuirt Journal Spring 2003. Have also read as part of the Poetry
Ireland Introductions series in November 2002.