That year, we’d like to forget by Emalisa Rose

Tim says we’ll look back and laugh,
sometime soon.

Sweeping the brush from the bramble,
he says rainbows will bow at our feet.

And birds will deliver their poems to
our door.

I ask him “When Timothy, when?”

He picks up the broom and starts
sweeping again.

I go back to my bourbon, forgetting his
cabernet prophecies.

When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and drawing with charcoals. She volunteers in animal rescue. Living by a beach town provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her work has appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Spillwords and other fine places. Her latest collection is "On the whims of the crosscurrents," published by Red Wolf Editions.