Kaitlin LaMoine Martin


Kimani asks me why he can’t carry the toy gun around outside & I know not to hand him the list of names I carry in my pocket & I can’t say because this country wants you dead & I can’t say because you are almost the age of being a threat & I can’t even say because I want you alive, want to watch you grow into your own breath & skin, want to hear your clarinet laugh deepen & I cannot watch your face lose its softness, watch your eyes open in this new way. And he looks at me, angry, & I know I’m not the source of this anger & also that I am.
Kaitlin LaMoine Martin was raised by a community of writers in Kalamazoo, Michigan. She’s been published in Bellevue Literary Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, and Passages North, among others. She owns a photography business, works for a non-profit, and spends hours thinking of new ways to entertain her dogs, Frida and Adam Lee Wags II.