Two Poems by Betsy Mars

Breath

The fat plastic bag blowing
across the road is evidence
of the earth’s breath.

What else might be invisible
until given shape by another?

*

Re(d)clamation

I want to reclaim red: sunlight
swimming in a glass of cabernet.
Not that ruined thing of sparring
wings, not that spilling bull’s blood
in the cheering ring. But instead
give me the carnelian horizon ceding
to the darkening sky at night.
Restore the blush to the coral
in the reef, now bleached. Give me
the ruby of cherries, a flushed cheek,
wind-chapped or lovestruck, let me hear
the Beatles sing of strawberry fields
and imagine fruit glistening all the way
to the horizon. I want the soft comfort
of lips warm and yielding,
childhood’s flashy firetrucks
at rest in their quiet garage. Elmo.
The homey sight of a fresh-painted barn,
a covered bridge, a welcoming door,
a jar of jam, my mother’s favorite polish,
reindeer’s scarlet nose circling the globe.
A cardinal on a snowy limb. Please return
my reds, untainted. I’ll gladly share my blues.

*

Betsy Mars is a prize-winning poet, photographer, and an editor at Gyroscope Review. Her writing has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net. Betsy’s poems are widely available online and in print, most recently in ONE ART, Calul, Book of Matches, and the anthology Signed, Sealed, Delivered The Motown Poetry Review (Madville Press). Her photos have appeared in various journals, including Spank the Carp and Rattle. Betsy has had two chapbooks published, Alinea, and In the Muddle of the Night, co-authored with Alan Walowitz. Additionally, through her publishing venture (Kingly Street Press) she released two anthologies, Unsheathed: 24 Contemporary Poets Take Up the Knife and Floored. A full-length book, Rue Obscure, is forthcoming from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions.