Poetry: Selections from Emalisa Rose
Nine years reclusive
by the window
watching the moon
and the magpies…
third of December
longing for leaves, as
she waits out the long days.
The carnage accounted for
amid the dust and debris.
Subsequently, the sun returned
lighting the sky, saving the world
from the cloud collapse.
A garland of geese wove through
the face of the firmament.
And we knew
as we tiptoed the shoreline
we were safe from the storm.
She promised she’d quit
by the next quarter moon or
when robins return
from their southern state sojourn.
Perhaps after holiday when its easier
time for such regiment.
Sneaking her six airplane bottles
into her pocketbook, Jane swears
she’ll stop one day - just not today.
Jimmy fucked up again, been ‘away’ a few years.
My back is a bitch these days; I live between ice packs
and heating pads, the weed and the celebrex.
Lights out by nine-thirty, can't take the nightly news.
I packed on eleven, fucking Pandemic, can’t lose
and don’t care, but you can’t see me fat again, like
those teen times of pimples, buck teeth and boy chasing.
Dad died, the cancer came back. Mom is still loopy.
We put her away, stopped talking to Sissy. She
took Moma's money, won’t give me a dime..the bitch.
I still prefer felines, rather spend time with them.
I've grown more reclusive; the cats understand me.
With some booze and some side guys and
a preference for quietude, I lapsed into dormancy
and live without noise for now.
Sorry I phased out on you.
It was good to catch up again.
Two times a Sunday he’d visit
his sister in that place for the “wayward.”
Dad gave his speech - “Just a nod and
a smile for both Joyce and the residents
and no matter how nice they appear, don’t
give them change for that soda machine.”
On the way back, we’d stop at the donut king
luring us in with its bright light fluorescence
and the clown with its mouth in a cruller.
Never mentioned was Joyce or the other ones
or the “stuff” that we witnessed.
Emalisa Rose, when not writing poetry, enjoys crafting and leading a birding group on Sundays. She also volunteers in animal rescue, tending to cat colonies in TNR programs. Her latest collections are On the Whims of the Crosscurrents, published by Red Wolf Editions and This Water Paint Life, published by Origami Poems Project.
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