Saturday, July 30, 2022

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.



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