Synesthesia By Betsy Mars

Synesthesia

In a state of brownie-found grace,
I lay bound to my bed, words trying to form
sentences, meaning
my words became pregnant
and I pushed, delivering them to the page.

My thoughts floated in a world
without verbs other than “lie”
or “listen” -- words more like nouns --
concrete states of being, not actions.

Pastel iridescent ribbons
curled like kitetails in the flutter
of my mind's eye, which named
it music and didn't care when
sound became color.

Bio: 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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