Mary Beth has recently taken some road trips around New England and walking tours in Scotland and England. She visited Crete about eight years ago and discovered a whole new dimension of the color blue that she still can’t adequately describe. She hopes to spend time in Alaska next summer, but equally appreciates imaginary journeys. You can find her work in Asinine Poetry, Mad Hatter’s Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Prick of the Spindle, and other literary magazines.
I have fallen in love with winter, / with the day that ends at 3:45 in the afternoon. // with the man striding along the path grasping / a pink plastic bag that glows incandescent / although it only contains dish soap / and the cat food he carries home after work …
...you wonder again about the soul, / Where it hides, where it ventures. / There's always one you have to bring to oblivion...
I wanted to be gray-faced / and hated by the Yankees / in the suburbs past Carleton.
Once he’d made the long, impetuous trip, / once we were there, evening air billowing my skirt / over the Pacific, surf sweeping like brushes over drums, / I knew we’d marry.
I lived by a river with tides unresolved / Under the house a sewer under a wooden board it ran / Sometimes a tapping sometimes a hum in the night like a motor
and I dream of a young woman from Prague / standing beside a red motorcycle as if so much / depended upon it...
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