The Sting

of the palm
as it reaches
the cheek,
the innocent
cheek, all
glowing and pink.

The pain
of the sting
as it crosses
the lips,
the sensuous
lips, so
worthy and free.

The wrath
of the world
as it crushes
the head,
the pulsating
head, once
brilliant, now dead.

The sound
of the crowd
as it mimics
the man,
the jabbering
man, once
noble and proud.

The hush
of the wind
as it drifts through
the hair,
the beautiful
hair, all
silky and clean.

The joy
of the girl
as she opens
the lock,
the garden
unlocked, now
sodden and flush.

The birth
of the bud
as it carries
the sting,
the heart-wrenching
sting, all
hidden and fine.

The cry
of the babe
as he wants her
to stay,
the boy not
at play, so
tearful and pained.

The sting
of the palm
as it reaches
the cheek,
the hardening
cheek, all
knowing and deep.

The pain
of the sting
as it crosses
the heart,
the withering
heart, no
longer a part.

— Victoria Emmons ©2013

Same. Same. Same.

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

The Voiceless Piano

Life as a tune
Daily melodies play
To heart’s desire
Upon the keyboard

Up and down
Like the scales
One moment a burst
Of love and joy

Chirping highs
And tinkling sounds
That cheer the world
And make merry

Only to fall thus to
The lowest notes
Deep and dark
The sharps and flats

Alas, in the end
The cover is locked
No song to sing at
The voiceless piano

–Victoria Emmons ©2014

Happy Hour

The bowl is empty
No longer filled
Four kinds of chips
Nothing but crumbs

Guacamole with spice
A hint of adventure
Is now all consumed
Along with the laughter

Guitar music plays
Yet no real strings
Save for the bus boy
Who changes CDs

People chatter at the bar
Occupy the soft leather
That coaxes them in
at Happy Hour prices

A man with a smart phone
Awaits a pretty girl
To occupy his time
With sweet perfume

The music plays on
Pretends to be Spain
Portugal or France
Some other place

Ceviche arrives
As a trainee
Sets down a plate
On the covered table

A concierge eyes
The tiny shrimp
To assure they show
Their finest face

The bar is occupied
Lonely souls looking
For conversation and
A hint of worthiness

–Victoria Emmons © 2014

Loyalty

For nearly 30 years, I’ve been seeing the same optometrist. Well, not exactly the same doctor every time because there are several optometrists in one office. Sometimes I would see Dr. T. Other times Dr. C. The ladies at the reception desk were always efficient and friendly. I don’t recall any of them ever leaving in all these years. They just age, like me. I stayed with these eye doctors even after I moved out of town. I would trudge through commute traffic back to my old neighborhood to get my eyes examined or buy contact lenses. I liked my physicians and the service they provided. When I moved even farther away, I debated whether I should switch to a new physician who was closer to home. I still didn’t change. I continued to drive back over the hill for my doctor, even though it was very inconvenient.

So for three decades, I have been very loyal to my eye doctor. Do you think my doctor was loyal to me?

My insurance just changed to a new plan. When I asked my doctor’s office staff if they accepted the new plan, they said no. The staff was kind and said they would suggest to the doctors that they consider applying for the new plan. I was happy. When I called back to see if that had been done, they told me the doctors had decided not to accept my new plan. It’s not as though the plan is a poor one. It pays quite well compared to others. Adding a new plan was just too inconvenient for them, I suppose.

So where has loyalty gotten me? I was loyal to my physicians all those years. They were not willing to return the same courtesy. I will remember that in the future, doctors, and will simply change on a dime, kicking you out of my life whenever I feel like it.

–Victoria Emmons ©2014

Suburbia

What do you do in Suburbia
when the sky
turns rain time blue
at 2 in the afternoon

and the wind
blows the moss
horizontal for the first
time in months

and the trees
rub against
each other’s boughs
heralding a storm

and the hard, wet
sounds of rain
hit the asphalt
on your street

What do you do in Suburbia
when you wish
you had an Andrew Wyeth field
to run in, but

all you can see is
a concrete gutter
and 14 neat rectangles
of prescribed lots

when you strain to
hear the thunder
but your neighbor’s
mower drowns you out

and you look to see
sky and Earth touch, but you can’t
because TV antennae and dogs
let out to toilet are in the way

What do you do in Suburbia
wait until the cursed shower
hangs on every leaf
and disguises humankind

–Victoria Emmons © 1979