Letters

First placed in a dresser drawer
Migrated to a shoebox
Burgeoned to a steamer trunk
Hidden away in a space in the wall
Letters kept safe over 50 years
Uncovered in a renovation

Home owners open them one by one
The story of two lovers unfolding on paper
Over time, through wars, marriage
And children born and died, the letters
Filled with life and hidden passion
Secrets that only lovers share

Those who discover the musings
Seek to find the children, now grown,
With no inkling of correspondence
Between mother and father, letters
Revealing struggles, patience, deep love
And devotion one to the other

Email is not wrapped in purple ribbon
Nor kept in a dresser drawer, perhaps
An iCloud drawer to be savored later
Or uncovered like Ashley Madison clients,
Not quite the same as thin Air Mail paper
With the familiar red, white and blue logo

Saint Tropez

Et puis un jour 
Mon cher ami 
Je serai vieille 
Et toi aussi 

Faisons l’amour 
Sous les étoiles 
Encore une fois 
Entouré par les voiles 

Parlons de nous 
Sans peur de larmes 
Mon beau visage 
Sous ton charme 

Tu m’as fait rire 
Tu te rappelles
Tu avais dansé 
Me tenant dans tes bras 

Je me rappelle 
Quand on dansait 
Dans la nuit sombre 
A Saint Tropez 

Tu m’as fait 
Me larmoyer 
Pour voir la mer 
En colère 

Mais nous chantions 
Comme toujours ensemble
Jamais en solitaire 
Nos coeurs tout proches

Embrasse-moi
Merveilleux amant 
L’un à l’autre 
Le désir est nôtre

Et ce jour-là 
Mon cher ami 
Je serai vieille 
Et toi aussi 

–Victoria Emmons © 2014


Mud

A gift of mud
From a dear friend
Turns my head
In a new direction

Not just any mud,
Of course, since
This mud traveled
Long distances

Through customs
Weighting down an
Already heavy suitcase
Of trinkets and souvenirs

This mud revered
By millions over time
Anecdote for pain
Soothing an ache or two

And now mine
To ease the hurt
Of an aging body
And cloudy mind

The mud draws me
Closer again
Pulls me toward
The clear water

Falls tumble
Over the edge
Like so many
Nights I remember

The sound of the flow
As it eased his pain
Warmth the only remedy
For his affliction

All these years
I could not go
Near the water
Or the memories

Of that huge tub
Filled with pain
And agony
Loneliness and sorrow

At night I hear
The faucet running still
As it was those dark
And deadly nights

Awakening me with
The reality of a cancer
Poisoning life as
We once knew it

The mud equals
Renewal and healing
Fifteen to twenty minutes
Is all it promises

Skin renewed, soft
Gentle kindness
Rinsed away in
Warm waters

I can do this
My aging flesh
Will accept the hot
Pool beneath me

No longer must I hide
From the bathtub of death
When life beckons
Me to play

Ironic somehow
The birth of
This renewal mud
The Dead Sea

—Victoria Emmons © 2015

The Wedding

Azure blue sky outlines palm fronds
As they sway high above martinis
By the side of a crystal clear pool
Occupied by blow-up floats

A maid scurries to and fro
Bringing baskets of white roses
And Baby’s Breath to carry
Down a makeshift aisle

Folded chairs await the curious
Who are lucky to hold a ticket
To observe life’s challenges
On this day of reconciliation

A woman in pink pins a corsage
To a gray suit who stands in silence
Reliving a past of lost memories
And forgotten times from his youth

Spirits and champagne remain
Uncorked until the precise moment
When a union is celebrated
And the new pair adorned

Two by two, sometimes three,
The hats arrive, clucking as they go
Finding fault with the tartness
Of the Fish House Punch

A string quartet sounds a chord
Of harmony to break
The silence of a dull afternoon
That consumes onlookers

Girls in purple gauze and ribbons
Giggle at one another as they await
A march that seems unspoken
To all but a few

The planners huddle under parasols
Or large branches painting shade
Upon steamy sidewalks and tiles
That guide guests to their seats

Beads of fear dot the temples
Of the man about to be wed
His awkward jacket wrinkled
From age and history untold

A friend by his side whispers
Encouraging words as patrons watch
His future about to begin
In a borrowed black suit

The choreography of the dance
Is enough to bring tears to all
Who dare to witness this day
Of hummingbirds and vows

A veil of white appears
Surrounding a belly filled with life
Beyond reach of happiness
And a pair of satin shoes.

–Victoria Emmons, © 2014