To Do List

Prepare for poetry.
Prepare for change.
Think more.
Make time for cursive writing.
Ignore Yahoo mail.

Get nails done.
Get hair done.
Believe in something.
Believe in anything.
Why believe?
Why not?

My head aches.
Blood is everywhere.
I am bleeding.
I am hurting.
I am bewildered.
I am emboldened.

Do not eat.
Do not drink.
Do not answer the phone.
Do not answer email.
Do not text.

Fast.
Lose weight.
Lose faith.
Lose teeth.
Lose friends.
Lose life.

Then gain.
Gain faith in humankind.
Gain friends.
Gain life.
But do not gain weight.
Gain gravitas.

LED Morning

Three blue fives
Reconcile time
For the morning

Down the stairs
Follow green glow
To the kitchen

Red embers
Lighten the room
Draw me near

In the darkness
Inspire me to
Press new words

Cats follow
Interrupt thought
Cries of need

Feed the hungry
To satisfy
And fulfill

Flash of red
Dull warning
Signals light

Renew thought
An addiction
To e-mail

–Victoria Emmons, 2009

Rhythms of Life on Foothill Road

From my house in the foothills, I can hear the Credence Clearwater Revisited Band jamming to the crowd. The sound floats out above the shopping centers and the speeding cars on the freeway, filling the length of Foothill Road. Every year in early summer, our town’s population swells to reflect the excitement of the County Fair. Businesses thrive and traffic is plentiful. And then, just as quickly as they arrived, fair goers and carnies all go home and summer continues its slow march into fall.

It reminds me of the moths that arrive at my front door every January. They appear just after New Year’s Day and flutter around my outdoor lights for two to three weeks. I have to open the door carefully or the winged creatures fly into my house. My cats often chase them around the living room. By the end of their visit, the moths just seem to disappear as quickly as they appeared. Where do they go?

Bats have their cycle, too. They descend in the dark of night, so are less obvious about making their nests under the shingles of my house. I can tell they’re back when their droppings become plentiful on my deck. They have lived there as long as I have. Well, probably longer. A friend suggested I relocate them to a bat house; but it doesn’t seem quite fair. They migrate annually and my place is just a summer cottage for them. Besides, they eat mosquitos and other pesky bugs. The bats and I made a truce long ago to peacefully coexist in our woodsy environment.

Like the moths and bats, the hikers have their patterns, too. In summer, they appear more frequently on that treacherous incline where I live. They huff and puff up the hill to reach the entrance to the Regional Park trails where they can enjoy the pleasure of nature at its best. Those who like real challenge ride mountain bikes up the steep hill and achieve the pleasure of a swift return going back downhill. The heartiest of hikers are there year round, but summer definitely swells the crowds.

Fair goers, moths, bats and hikers… all of them represent the rhythms of life on Foothill Road. It is what I love about living here.

Wente Concert Summer 2009

Palm trees wave at dusk
Blue backdrop to the stage
Backdrop to my memory
Of hits from the 70s

Graying heads bob
In rhythm to the music
Songs behind our minds
From a former time

A single lighter flame
Waves back and forth
Keeping time with
Familiar melodies

Others follow the lead
Of a digital flame
A sea of mechanical fire
Erupts in unison

Cheese on our knees
Share a Cabernet
Stars in the sky
Planes fly to SFO

The crowd is relaxed
So easy and free
Nothing less than
A three-song curtain call

Claps and whistles abound
An old man wearing a hat
Dances with a slender blond
The night’s still young

–Victoria Emmons, 2014

Cross Country

 

Race to find
Lost champions
Displaced colleagues
Beloved coaches

Forlorn friends
From an era gone by
Ring the sound
Of glory for the team

Ring the sound
Of glory to learn
The prize is not
The ring at all

The prize is you, my friend
The friend who loves you
Who cheers the champion
And finds the colleagues

Mourns the era gone by
Melts away 50 years
Holds the class as one
Even across country

–Victoria Emmons, 2014

(Inspired by the Robert E. Lee High School Class of 1968 whose track team won the State Cross Country Championship, never got the recognition it deserved until 2014 when a reunion was organized by fellow classmates and a champion ring was given to each member of the team.)

Talking with Flies

He followed me home tonight
After dinner at the club
I wasn’t sure he’d show up
At dinner, I mean

The table was set for two
And the waiter asked
“Expecting someone, Ma’am?”
To which I replied my usual

I am only one, you see
Just me and my iPad
To talk to one another
Over duck and Chardonnay

The second set of forks
Whisked from the table
Along with a black napkin
So as not to confound

I know I am one and not two
Know that the distance between
Me and you is vast and cold
That you are really gone

Yet you arrive with the salad
Of tomatoes and mozzarella
Your sound alerts me long
Before I see you fly by

So free and easy you are
No pain or wretched love
Just swirling and gliding
Over my plate to say hi

Maria’s Tuscan Salad

Leave me alone, Maria
Take your vinaigrette
Capers and red peppers
And be done with it

Leave me be, Maria
Your salad of artichokes
Extra virgin olive oil
Makes me be a virgin

Leave me crying, Maria
That I lost the tomatoes
This growing season
Never more to slice

Leave me still, Maria
As I grieve the Kalamatas
That once graced my bowl
Now only Bermuda remnants

Leave me ripe, Maria
With hearts of palm
Mozzarella cheese curds
And heirlooms for home

–by Victoria Emmons, 2014

from “Word Movers”, An Anthology of Creative Writings by Seniors, City of Oakland, 2014