When daylight offers
Nothing more than
Funny cat videos
For eight hours
And blinds are meant
To remain shuttered
Food never consumed
Nor books devoured
The real cat awakens me
Her claws prick my neck
Startle me from a dreamland
Of fanciful dancing and love
My anger frightens her and me
She finds solace under a chair
I find it online in a site
Leading me elsewhere
A story on detergent choices
Liquid, powder or pacs
To clean the oils and scents
He left on my sheets
A familiar buzz creates the strange backdrop of my kitchen, and my world. The sound of distress is repeated often in my head, but now it lives. I cannot locate the source. It continues to fill the cool air of an October morning. Where is he? I heard him in pain, buzzing so loudly that I must listen. He wants my attention as he cries for help.
I wait. I must be dreaming, my head repeats. He is gone. He no longer lives on this Earth. But then again, I want to think otherwise. I want to believe the signs that he flew my way six years past. The flutter of his wings upon my cheek. His flight was soft and gentle, aiming for me, for my face. Certain it was he, I broke into laughter. No disrespect, my love, but your wings tickled my nose. Made me smile. I knew it was you, free from pain.
So why now? Why this distress call to me? I look in every room as the sound grows in voice. That buzz remains. I cannot find you. Searching every fold of the house in which I call my home, but not really home since you are not here. Or are you? They tell me I am mad. La Femme Folle. But ’tis only folly, I know. I believe you, mon cher ami. Mon amant, mon amour. I believe you.
And there you are. Upside down, with your tiny wiggling legs. There you are wedged between the bends of a blue kitchen towel. You buzz with vigor, waiting to be freed. Who said a fly should be let free? You chose to be there, mon ami. You wanted to fly, so I let you free. Fly away now, safe to the outside air. Come alive. Don’t die. Keep flying. I love you.
–Victoria Emmons, copyright 2016
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
Your handsome face stares
out from a weathered picture frame
into my life, the life you created.
More than creation, you lifted me into
a world of puppy dogs’ tails, fish
at the end of a pole, and sharpshooters.
Your aim was straight and exact, calculated
so you hit the mark in your patient way, forever
waiting for the rest of us to follow.
You remain my tower of strength, a stable rock
upon which I can depend, the blessing
in an otherwise churning river of disappointment.
I imagine you perched on a stool in my kitchen, sipping
a cup of instant coffee, no cream,
listening to me talk about dreams and lovers.
I picture your advice to me this day, when
fathers everywhere are exalted just for being, for
their love, kindness and understanding.
To feel the comfort of your hug right now, Daddy,
just one more time, would revive my faith in men
and erase the pain for yet another day.
–Victoria Emmons, Copyright 2015
Red is the color
of her nails
as she taps
the countertop at
Coffee, Tea & Me
Green is the color
of her envy
as she waits
watching the pair
kiss and smile sweetly
Black is the color
of her heart
as it beats
a hollow cavern
no more void of pride
Brown is the color
of her latte
as it steams
slathered in cream
wanting to be sipped
Pink is the color
of her palm
as it slaps
squarely upon his
happy bearded face
White is the color
of his fear
as it tells
his indiscretion
on Valentine’s Day
–Victoria Emmons, copyright 2015
Passes through
The morning haze
Signals dawn
About to emerge
In tandem with
Faith and courage
A light so bright
That eyes close
Thoughts reveal
A stillness
A kind of wonder
About life
Sometimes a heart
Peers through a door
Hopes for tomorrow
And breathes anew
As solace for tears
Left behind
A heart so strong
Overwhelming joy
Random love
Kindness filled
To the brim
With tragedy
Sometimes at dusk
Night escapes
Our grasp and
Forfeits sleep in
Favor of dreamy
Peaceful endings
—Victoria Emmons © 2015
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
Fast and furious
Speed toward infinity
Ripe for castigation
Or maybe scintillation
Leap into the abyss
All for just one kiss
–Victoria Emmons, ©2012
Polka dot dresses
Pink bows
In our hair
My baby
And me
What shall we wear?
Same. Same. Same, Mommy
We are the same.
Frilly blue gowns
Frizzy red hair
My little girl
And me
What shall we wear?
Same. Same. Same, Mommy
We are the same.
Black mascara
Bandanas to share
My young lass
And me
What shall we wear?
Same. Same. Same, Mommy
We are the same.
Long, white veil
Everyone stares
Pretty bride
And me
What shall we wear?
Same. Same. Same, Mommy
We are the same.
Wrinkly, brown skin
Curly, black hair
Your baby
And you
What shall you wear?
Same. Same. Same, Mommy
We are the same.
— Victoria Emmons ©2013
La Vue de rue Sleidan 