Cradled moon
Armchair Voyager
by Betsy Mars

No carbon offsets required, I travel
the world with David Attenborough,
admire the courting rituals of the bower birds
who take such care with their homes
while I decorate for holidays no one observes.

I stop the drafts, insulate, isolate. Try
not to spread: viruses, waste,
hopelessness, my sense of dread.

Taking out recycling I look to the sky,
the dark thick with stars, and below
near the roofline, the moon in a cloud cradle,
swathed in down—a gentle nightlight aglow.

Inside I turn off lights, wrap myself in fleece,
add another layer, consider the beauty
to be found, even above this suburban town,
a tiny slice of peace.

PHOTO: Cradled Moon by Betsy Mars.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Betsy Mars is a tree-hugging, bleeding-heart poet and photographer who seems to have always had a soft spot for the environment and all creatures, great and small. From childhood she gravitated to water and to green environments, but she has lately found herself also appreciating the resilience and adaptations of those living in the desert—maybe a natural evolution as she ages and adapts. As the mother of two adult children, she is especially concerned with the future of the planet. Her work has appeared in One Art, Sheila-Na-Gig, Sky Island, Verse Virtual, and many other fine publications. She is the author of the poetry collection Alinea and co-author, with Alan Walowitz, of In the Muddle of the Night. For more, visit her at and find her on Facebook.