Today I forsake the company of people
for the easy conversation of cats,
and dogs who keep me on my toes,
warm my feet, speak with ears
cocked, the better to show me
their attention is transfixed.
What more do we want
than scent, well-placed scratches,
a full stomach?
To be content with only touch --
with not talking or thinking
The silent gaze and knowing
tongue, the kneading, the instinct
to understand when play is needed,
and when just being is enough --
a sigh, a stretch,
a soft rumble of cat happiness.
*First appeared in Your Daily Poem
The wind chime pendulums
on the porch
were once tossed
driftwood on this beach -
here among the rocks and lost socks
and bits of sea glass
I wander the length of the shore
seeking the perfect shell –
to the right the sea grass waves
to the left small swells –
and in the distance
sailboats and kite surfers.
Instead I could sit still
on a square meter of beach
and find, if I look closely or dig
deep, every piece I seek –
the smooth stone perfect
to palm or skim across calm waters,
the rough rock with striations
like rainbows, the abandoned
shell once home to dinner,
the glass shard of a bottle
that held minerals and sugar -
sun and soil magic for the tongue
in grief or celebration,
or solace on a lonely night
when I try to sort, seeking
home in a handful of beach.
*First appeared in Alinea
Betsy Mars was born in Connecticut, but has spent most of her life in the Los Angeles area. A two year stint in Brazil as a child made a lasting impact on her in terms of her early awareness of language and culture, socio-economic differences, and left her with an abiding love of travel. She is an educator, mother, and animal lover, and is striving desperately to make up for lost time after decades away from the serious study and writing of poetry. Her work has recently appeared in Writing In A Woman's Voice, The Rise Up Review, and the Peacock Journal.
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