The side road of somewhere by Emalisa Rose

They grow here.

The weeds do,

reckless as rain

uncharted, unchained

in the deep anonymity

weaving the window, as I watch

from these hot sheets

by the side road of somewhere

where you slipped me some scotch

and most likely a mickey

to get me to pose

in these late night contortions

where I slid from the grid and the sight

of the husband that feeds me

where like weeds

we grow wild in a poem

unrehearsed in the verse

we dare not to finish.

Sober 16

The branch becomes barren;

the songbird’s flown south.

Overhead hanging,

a half hearted moon, with

the stars in absentia.

And Abigail struggles, on

her sixteenth day sober

watching from window side

sketching herself in the still life

as the nights become longer.

When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame. She volunteers in animal rescue and tends to cat colonies. She lives by the beach, which provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her poems have appeared in Writing in a Woman's Voice, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review and other great places. Her latest collection is "This water paint life," published by Origami Poems Project.