top of page

Martie Odell-Ingebretsen

The Intimacy of Waiting


Intimate skin

I’ve touched it yes

felt the fold and firm 

not thought of loss no not yet

it’s too early for that burn


Even though I know that suddenly

is what is counted rare

it has spent time in my tear ducts

and it has brought despair


I am looking for my courage

so my face holds him with peace

but I’ve lost my hold on positive

and I want to scream release


Listen how the music of the birds

is just the same

and the countless aching shadows

still fall quietly in blame

for the sun so slowly moving

across the sky I feel its pull

and the restless cricket sounding

in my heart I feel this purr

that would cancel this already known

or let me see the light

so that I don’t need wait longer

for the words night after night


But time has no forgiveness 

nor does empathy allow

any other option covered

in a live forever gown

so I catch the special moment

and I covet the heartbeat

and do the only thing I know


I wait here patiently

Water Down


Tear up the sky baby

pour the water down 

the sound is falling

hear its feet trace my map


into the slide of mud

wrapped in hard down rock

oh rock me with the music

of your liquid breath


dimple darling the street

with rivers filling up into the dark

delivery comes from your potent mouth 

as it crumbles the blush of dusk

with stakes that jam the horizon

down into the cinnabar crack of tomorrow


Don’t whisper it’s too late 

and I have yearned for sound of tin drums

to make music like your hands in my mind

feed me baby with you patter I’m starved

and rocking in a boat made of splinters

‘til I drown



The air-tangled hair of me takes flight

wanting to leave you there on the bench

looking across the tree lined street

with your earnest eyes


I am afraid of the rip in this city

where the glass eyes have watched

time crack the sidewalk even as the rose blooms

slowly for years now

the spider has taken over the corner

where the twilight lingers at five


Calm me back with the sweet of you

your hand the current 

its direction a suave for my errant flutter

I want to be strong rope for you to hold 

but I fly


and I am afraid of the tear in this gown

that I have worn called oh what

what is it called 

it is turning into wing even as I

hold it down with gold rings of intention

and all the pretty pieces are flying all around

and I can't catch them with my love

can't catch them


so you must 



Martie Odell-Ingebretsen was born in Pasadena, California. She fell in love with books at an early age and continues that love of reading. She received her AA 

degree at Pasadena City College and attended the University of California at Berkeley and several California State College campuses where she majored in English Literature and Creative Writing. She is a child-development specialist and taught young children for over thirty years. Martie has taken many classes in creative writing, poetry and fiction throughout her life. Her Novella, Sweet William was published in 2013. She has also written a number of short stories, and over two thousand poems. She is happy to report that many have been published. In 2014 one of her poems has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She finds poetry to be a way to express her deepest feelings. She is a keen observer and finds imagery in all things, and in so doing appreciates the beauty and learns from the wisdom that surrounds her. Martie lives in Sacramento.

bottom of page