Poetry by Betsy Mars

Sunnyside Care Home

Privacy curtains drawn, we watch Jeopardy.
Our nightly routine, a bond
before parting. The tray pushed aside -
broth and blended brown mounds,
reeking of spoon-fed infancy.
 
We listen for questions to which
we know the answers.
In the same room, behind curtain number 2,
a man keeps a vigil, silent like his silent twin,
united again in this sterile womb.
 
Final Jeopardy after the next commercial break;
we wait expectantly. Before the question can be revealed,
a soft voice from behind the curtain requests our pardon.
We mute the TV; he tells us his brother has just passed.
In solidarity we turn off the TV.
 
That’s how death can happen -
the question we will never know. 



 
Off-track
 
walking in the spreading weeds
beaten down
picking salad greens
I hear the train coming, rhythmic
loneliness spreads
the many railway destinations
I’ve been railroaded in:
New Orleans bars, New York cars,
off the tracks in Memphis,
waylaid in LA,
the last stop is around the bend
the sun is glaring, red
hot tomatoes grow wild
my bag loaded and bursting




Banking on it

We’ll go to the bank in the morning.
The branches are kitty corner, at Main
and Elm. Remember? The accounts
have a long series of numbers,
arranged in columns.
 
I’ll take you first thing in the morning.
We’ll get your money; don’t worry.
I’ll be secure. There’s no hurry.
The funds are there;
you’re not yet spent. 
Leave it for the night, sleep tight.
In the morning you can eat
peaches and cream
to your heart’s discontent. It won’t be long
and we’ll both head to that vault, but for now
 
a morphine drip to help you slip
into the calm breathing of the night;
your last in skin.
Now I dream of you, my father,
and put on your orphaned socks.
​

Bio: Betsy Mars is a poet, educator, and animal lover. She has a love for languages and other cultures which was born and nurtured during her years living in Brazil as a child. She is her best self when traveling, and sometimes even manages to be funny, though her children deny it, Her work has appeared in the California Quarterly, Silver Birch, and Gnarled Oak, among others, as well as in a number of anthologies. Her poetry can be found at https://marsmyst.wordpress.com/.

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