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.
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./ In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/ mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/ alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, / measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. / Never mind that Mother left this earth / eighteen months earlier...
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/ in several African tongues, so far beyond me/ they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/ are going by in the sturdy fog...
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/ with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./ Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/ not there to answer
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