Reparations

by Betsy Mars

Such a fine web you strung:

light lines in my window

I didn't see. I didn’t see

when I pushed

my hand through,

expecting the resistance 

of glass. I punched 

a hole mindless

of your efforts and you.

You patiently re-hung, 

thread

after thread,

I watched you return

to the center time

and again until at last

it was complete 

and you rested, well-earned.

In the morning,

tatters of silk blown out in the night.

* * * * *

"Reparations" is from Betsy Mars's new chapbook Alinea.

Betsy Mars is a poet and educator who was born in Connecticut and moved several times before settling in the LA area. She spent two formative years in Brazil where she attended kindergarten, retaining the Portuguese words for cat, dog, and come here.
Her father was a professor and her mother was a social worker, and together they gave her an early appreciation for language and social justice, as well as an overly developed tendency toward introspection.

She has a bachelor’s and master’s degree from USC which she puts to no obvious use. A mother, avid traveler, and animal lover, her work has recently appeared in The Rise Up Review, Writing in A Woman’s Voice, and The Ekphrastic Review, as well as in a number of anthologies, and the California Quarterly. Her first chapbook, entitled Alinea, is available through Amazon or directly from the author at marsmyst@gmail.com.