by Betsy Mars
What makes me so happy
about the way a dog laps water
from the dish? Tongue slapping
liquid, and once quenched,
the excess flowing over slack lips,
the floor slick with spit. Loki grins,
black nose gleaming, triple dipped.
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Betsy Mars is a southern California poet who is in a perpetual battle with change – finally coming to some kind of a truce, and at times even love and acceptance. She is an educator, mother, animal lover, and over-excited traveler. Her poetry has been published in a number of places, both online and in print, most recently in Sheila-Na-Gig, The Ekphrastic Review, and Red Wolf Journal. Writing has given her a means to explore her preoccupation with mortality and her evolving sense of self.