October 18: "At Blackwater Pond," Beautiful Things, Love and Wonder

Mary Oliver and a beautiful thing . . . 

At Blackwater Pond

by:  Mary Oliver

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands.  I drink

a long time.  It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire.  It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones.  I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Like Oliver's bones, we are all sometimes shocked by beautiful things that happen to us.

Sometimes, that beautiful thing is an unexpected letter, card, email, or text.  My niece sent me this text right before the awards ceremony on Sunday, where I was named Writer of the Year:

I won't make it tonight to your ceremony, but I am soooo proud of you!  There's no one more deserving than you!

My daughter, the day after I received the award, sent me this message:

just wanted to tell you how proud i am to have you as my father, im so happy to see you be recognized for your work last night as you're the hardest working person i know.  the foundation you set for me in english, poetry, art, and music has allowed me to never be afraid to express myself and always be a creative soul.  i love you sooo much and i'm forever grateful that i somehow got lucky enough to have someone as caring, thoughtful, kind, and supportive as you to be my dad.💓💓

I not ashamed to say that I cried when I got both of these texts.  A lot.  Two beautiful things that fell out of the sky into my hands.  I know that my niece loves me.  I know that my daughter loves me.  But to have my niece say she's proud of me, to have my child say that she's lucky to have me as a father . . . Well, it was better than the award itself.  Pardon my language, but it proved to me that I've done something fucking right in my life.

And tonight, I had two more beautiful things happen:  beautiful readings by two poet friends--Dennis Hinrichsen and Andrew Collard.  It was an hour of absolute joy listening to them read from their new books, Sprawl and Flesh-plastique.  Their poems were moving, astonishing, challenging, and true to the bone.  I was blessed by their words.

So, if you can't tell, Saint Marty is sort of blissed out this evening.  The world contains so much love and wonder and beauty.

May 27: The Boy Came Back, Niece, High School Graduation

The boy is good to the old man . . . 

When the boy came back the old man was asleep in the chair and the sun was down. The boy took the old army blanket off the bed and spread it over the back of the chair and over the old man's shoulders. They were strange shoulders, still powerful although very old, and the neck was still strong too and the creases did not show so much when the old man was asleep and his head fallen forward. His shirt had been patched so many times that it was like the sail and the patches were faded to many different shades by the sun. The old man's head was very old though and with his eyes closed there was no life in his face. The newspaper lay across his knees and the weight of his arm held it there in the evening breeze. He was barefooted.

The boy left him there and when he came back the old man was still asleep.

The boy takes care of the old man.  He's a good kid.  Full of kindness and empathy.  He's the kind of kid who gives me hope for the future.

Tonight, I attended the high school graduation of my niece.  There's something about being in a gymnasium full of young people who have their eyes on the future that fills me with hope.  A lot of it.  At the end of twelve years of public education, these kids have been through a whole lot, including a global pandemic.  They've had to deal with loss on a scale that I could never even imagine when I was seventeen.

Yet, they were smiling.  Laughing.  Celebrating.  Quoting Kanye West.  (Yes, Kanye West.)  The orchestra played "Pomp and Circumstance."  Mothers and fathers cried.  Diplomas and carnations were handed out.  And pictures were taken.  A lot of pictures.  

That is my takeaway from this evening.  Despite all the crap these kids have been through, they remain excited and wide-eyed about what's next.  That's huge, considering they have lived through four years of Donald Trump and COVID.  If there was ever a group of high school graduates who were candidates for permanent existential crises, my niece and her classmates would be them.  Yet, they aren't.

I love my niece and am excited for her.  She's sweet, compassionate, funny, and amazing in so many ways.  Seeing her take that first big step into the future filled my heart with joy.  Made me believe that the world is in good hands.

For the first time in a while, Saint Marty is going to sleep tonight with hope in his heart.

September 16: Topmost Car, Niece, Prayer for Happiness

As they passed the Ferris wheel, Fern gazed up at it and wished she were in the topmost car with Henry Fussy at her side.

It's difficult to see children grow up sometimes.  Mrs. Arable certainly struggles with the idea of Fern being interested in Henry Fussy.  Simply letting her daughter wander off into the Fair without her makes Mrs. Arable a little weepy.  And the highlight of the Fair, for Fern, is not Wilbur's victory.  It's being stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel with Henry.


My niece got married this weekend.  Soon, she will be heading downstate with her new husband.  It's difficult to think of her as a grownup, let alone a married woman.  She's heading out into the world to carve out a new life, create a new family for herself.  Yet, like Mrs. Arable, I can't seem to get past the fact that she and her husband still seem so young.

I'm not worried about them.  They're both smart and resourceful.  And they are really in love.  I was talking with my five-year-old son last night, and he said to me, "She is going away now, and I won't see her any more, right?"  He was genuinely sad at the idea of my niece not being around any more.  I told him that he would see her at holidays and other special times, but it didn't really cheer him up.  He doesn't quite grasp the idea of separation.  His world isn't quite that big yet.

I know my son will adjust to my niece's new existence.  The next time he sees her, he may even refuse to give her a hug, because that's just the way little boys are.  Love is malleable.  He's going to take his feelings about my niece and mold them, like a lump of playdough, into something he understands.  A fish.  Bear.  Goblin.  Heart.

My prayer tonight is for my niece's happiness as she heads out into the world.  I pray that she will always know love and kindness.  That she will never feel want or hunger.  And that, when difficult times arise, she and her husband will know they are never alone.

This is Saint Marty's hope for her.

Home is where the heart is

September 14: Best Time, Wedding, Matt Gavin Frank, "For Avery," New Cartoon

"Did you have a good time at the Fair?" she asked as she kissed her daughter.

Fern nodded.  "I had the best time I have ever had anywhere or any time in all of my whole life."

"Well!" said Mrs. Arable.  "Isn't that nice!"

Fern spent the day with Henry Fussy, playing the carnival games, riding the Ferris wheel, sharing cotton candy.  She has become more than a little girl who's content to sit on a stool in her uncle's barn and listen to animals talk.  By the end of Charlotte's Web, Fern has moved into a bigger, wider world.  A world where Henry Fussy is more interesting than her pet pig.


You'll forgive me for not posting yesterday.  My niece got married on Saturday, and I was swept up in the festivities.  I played the pipe organ for the ceremony, and then there was the wedding reception.  Friends, family, salads, cake, and dancing.  By the time I got home last night, I was pleasantly exhausted.

It really was a lovely day.  Seeing two young people so much in love fills me with hope.  The world is in good hands if my niece and her new husband are any indication of the future.  Weddings really are about taking a chance.  Choosing love over cynicism.  Forging a new family, new home, new life in a time that is often ruled by confusion and chaos.

My niece was beautiful.  Her groom looked as if he was a star about to go nova with happiness.  So much joy surrounded me yesterday.  It was impossible not to smile and laugh, dance and clap.  There are few times in life when it's OK just to surrender to goodness.  Yesterday was one of those times.

Saint Marty has a poem about love from Matt Gavin Frank today.

For Avery

by:  Matthew Gavin Frank

For all the loving, love.  Like a hanger
with blue wool on it.  Like a blue sheep

mad with sickness, at the moon
for turning colors.  You bear the burden

of reward.  It weighs about four pounds.

Sometimes, the world hides itself behind
the patio furniture in the way-back

of the garage, the big-armed chairs you will,
one summer, improperly stain, puddling

the patio purple like old murder.

For all the new, renew.  Like the library
book on birdfeeders you will desperately

want to save a dollar on.  Like a recipe
for Harissa, or the child who hates

Harissa, and because of this loves you.

Not because of this:  the

stains at your collar,
the spit-up formula smell ringing

your neck with premature lemon.  That special
way you hang your shirts, carefully, to mask

their heartlessness.

For all the hearts in this apartment, sing
circus songs to a newborn.

Confessions of Saint Marty