I wish I could ask herby Emalisa Rose
It has purple wrens on it, with filigree
branches. I wish I could show her; she’d
But she passed several months ago. She’d
tell me how warm I would be and to just
buy one already.
This one’s velour with a triple lace collar,
long sleeves with cuffs to keep out the cold
on those nights of first frost, when winds
whip the willow.
And snugly I sleep, though
the bare nights of February.
I wish I could ask her, what I’d never ask
anyone, in my fear to acknowledge, with
the pink in my hair; tattoos on my sleeve
and one or two piercings in unusual places.
I wish I could ask her -
what it’s like to get old, Mom?
* * * * *
When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and birding. She volunteers in animal rescue, helping to tend to a cat colony in her neighborhood. Living by the beach, provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her work has appeared in Writing in a Woman's Voice, Spillwords, and other fine places. Her latest collection is On the whims of the crosscurrents, published by Red Wolf Editions.