Poetry: Emalisa Rose

A simple “sorry”

Rain on the sycamore

metaphorically syncs with

the meeting of mourners.

The circling of silver gulls

sketches the sky in the

pop art of prophecy.

We both could have said it -

a simple "I'm sorry."

Instead, I watch graveside,

as diggers stand by, shovels

in hand, ready to bury you.

O sister, dear sister.

Forgive me!

There.. I just said it,

the clouds, bearing witness.

****

To where do you go, scarlet songstress

Having just watched your night flight,

to where do you go

scarlet songstress?

It’s eight degrees cooler, this

pre-autumn morning. The sky

shirks the chill, having played

escort, to your southern bound

sojourn.

I imagine you’re resting, paused

on some shoreline, not far from 

these sands that once hosted you.

Here, as I window watch,

spinning scenarios

when you need be away

from me.

****

The haunting of loose leaves

Equipped with a toolbox of

retrospect, whifferall, sixth sense

and post midnight epiphanies.

Determined to flee from the season

of something, I’d struggled to shed

from my psyche.

Let’s digress to the sycamore. 

Moonfulls post Autumn, yet springtime 

still clings to both bough and the branch,

in dangling remnants - pale pinks

pallid purples; leaves on a limbo.

I blinked twice, edging miles past

the harvest’s finale.

Little leaf twirls metaphorically,

then sheds itself free from the hold 

of the mother tree. 

Everything passes.

You can no longer haunt me.

****

Bio: When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and hiking. She volunteers in animal rescue and tends to cat colonies in the area.  She leads a birding group through the neighborhood trails bimonthly.  Living by the beach, provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her work has appeared in MadSwirl, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, The Beatnik Cowboy and other great places. Her latest collection is “On the whims of the crosscurrents,” published by Red Wolf Editions.

Setu October 2021