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Dana Henry Martin

About Me

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  • My Bio
  • Published Work
  • Reviews of My Work
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Poetry Collections

  • ‘In the Space Where I Was,’ Hyacinth Girl Press
  • ‘The Spare Room,’ Blood Pudding Press
  • ‘Toward What Is Awful,’ YesYes Books

Selected Poems

  • American Sentences
  • Erasures
  • Selections from ‘Love and Cruelty,’ Meat for Tea
  • Selections from ‘No Sea Here,’ Moon in the Rye Press

Recent Posts

  • White Salamanders
  • The Portal
  • The Fog
  • The Order
  • Ribbety
  • Whole in Your Wholeness
  • Worthless Words
  • Be the Nudibranch You Want to See in the World

Writing

  • Ephemera
  • Essays
  • Notes

Visuals

  • Art
  • Graphics
  • Photos

Subjects

  • Animals
  • Birds
  • Childhood
  • Dogs
  • Dreams
  • Family
  • Healing
  • Health
  • Human Rights
  • Literary
  • Mental Health
  • Mindfulness
  • Neurodiversity
  • Oklahoma
  • Poetry
  • Trauma
  • Utah
  • Washington

Abuses in Poetry Birding Birds Birds Above the Abyss Blue Jay Brian Kilmeade Carl Jung Childhood Child Sex Abuse Dog Dreams Dyslexia Essays European Starling Facebook Family Father Healing Health Homophobia Kansas City Mental Health Mindfulness Moth Mother My Gorgeous Somewhere Neurodiversity Notes Oklahoma Poetry Polyphantus Red-Tailed Hawk Selected Poems Sleep Southern Utah Squirrel Sublimation This Life Designed Transphobia Trauma Tucson Twitter Utah Washington Writing

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Selected Poems

American Sentences

Winter night, who needs the moon when fast-food signs backlight these barren trees?

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January 28, 2013September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin

American Sentences

In Eastern Washington, we like our liquor and our weapons concealed.

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June 25, 2012September 23, 2025 Dana Henry Martin

American Sentences

Far off, a plane in the blue sky is smaller and whiter than a louse.

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June 24, 2012September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin

American Sentences

We compare scars: some no more than pebbles, others supple blades of grass.

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June 18, 2012September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin

American Sentences

As I weed the carrot bed, a spider crawls into my shirt and rests.

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June 15, 2012September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin

American Sentences

Across the street, a white truck and white SUV remind me of snow.

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March 27, 2012September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin
My Gorgeous Somewhere

American Sentences

I hold my dog to the cracked window so she can listen to the rain.

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March 16, 2012September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin
My Gorgeous Somewhere

American Sentences

The sky of my home is as much a stranger to me now as you are.

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November 4, 2011September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin
Poetry

American Sentences

Third rain of fall: Water has left mud imprints of leaves on the sidewalk.

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October 7, 2011September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin
My Gorgeous Somewhere

American Sentences

Here, a man might wake one morning to find his bull killed, its calf stolen.

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October 4, 2011September 20, 2025 Dana Henry Martin
My Gorgeous Somewhere

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