These two poems by Emalisa Rose aim to to bring awareness to a nuance, a shade of meaning luring in the background that the mind’s eye has a unique ability to tune into…
by: Emalisa Rose
These monotone mornings They used to be scenery, background views; I hadn’t the time for them. But now, we’ve got intimate on these monotone mornings of the window paned world. I watch center stage. Twelve storm the branch and wait till I toss out some seeds. Windy outside; too soon they fly off, with barely a song for me. The chimes filling in, for the birds today.
Tom tearing up Tom said that he’d never cry for her; that he came out of respect for the rest of us. Dabbing Aunt Sylvia’s eyes to no avail, Uncle Bob let her collapse on his shoulder as the last of the prayers were recited. As if it was scripted, the blues of the stained glass fluorescents, started screaming with rain. Those on the ceiling, reaching up to the heavens, broke their composure, on the cathedral’s white ceiling. Watching Tom wipe his nose, I said it’s okay. I promised I’d never let on to the rest of them.
When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame.She walks with a birding group on Sundays. She volunteers in animal rescue and tends to cat colonies in the neighborhood. Her latest collection is On the whims of the crosscurrents published by Red Wolf Editions.
