Sanctification or The Ongoing Saga of my Inheritance of Prunes by Betsy Mars

Sanctification or The Ongoing Saga of my Inheritance of Prunes

In the 3082 days since my father died
prunes have accompanied me
to the East Coast and Midwest
and Northwest and Southeast,
to Lisbon and Sydney, Hawaii,
and Paris. I carry an emergency
stash in my go to work bag in case
in my hurry to leave I forget to taste.
Sometimes I swallow them nearly whole like an oyster.
Sometimes I chew them more thoughtfully
as if at a tasting.
Sometimes they sit on my tongue
like a sanctified wafer, the host
decomposing, my body finishing
the work the Sun began. Occasionally
my teeth hit a sharp bit the pitter missed,
and I flinch as if hit, remember the bitter,
the pain that sometimes even the softest
sweetest things hold within.

*

Betsy Mars is a prize-winning poet, photographer, and assistant editor at Gyroscope Review. Her poetry has been published in numerous journals and anthologies. Recent poems can be found in Minyan, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Autumn Sky Poetry Daily. Her photos have appeared online and in print, including one which served as the Rattle Ekphrastic Challenge prompt in 2019. She has two books, Alinea, and her most recent, co-written with Alan Walowitz, In the Muddle of the Night. In addition, she also frequently collaborates with San Diego artist Judith Christensen, most recently on an installation entitled “Mapping Our Future Selves.”