Through a window on a phone screen,
through text, I picture you as seen
through a window on a door
as you lie in your hospital bed,
your breath occupying the lungs in my head.
You and your cup of water out of reach
and I can do nothing to help.
Exposed to the virus, I isolate, and anyway,
no visitors allowed, so I stay at home,
respond to texts as you remain
mostly alone while they monitor oxygen,
adjust medications, confer.
We are all powerless I remember again,
always on one side or another of that door.
is a prize-winning poet and photographer, an editor at Gyroscope Review, and publisher of an occasional anthology through Kingly Street Press. Her writing has appeared widely online and in numerous print anthologies, and has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Betsy’s photos have been published in Rattle (as the Ekphrastic Challenge prompt), in Redheaded Stepchild, and as a cover image for Spank the Carp.
Her chapbooks and small press publications (Kingly Street Press) are available on Amazon. In addition to her chapbook collaboration with Alan Walowitz (In the Muddle of the Night, 2021), she recently worked with artist Judith Christensen on an installation in San Diego which is part of an ongoing exploration of memory, identity, home, and family. Betsy also works as a substitute teacher, and as a cat wrangler in her spare time.
