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


On the senior pages in my high school yearbook, the quote they chose to put under my picture is: “You can catch more flies with honey than you can with a fly swatter.” It was advice that my mother had always given us and I found that she was right. When kindness is shown, even to those who may not readily seem to deserve it, the reward is always with the giver. So I tried to be nice to everyone and I guess people noticed.

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The first time I saw her eyes, I was mesmerized. There she lay in the arms of another, but my own arms ached to hold her. I was impatient, too impatient to wait a single second more as professionals confiscated her to do their bidding. I could only watch with anticipation, my very corps bleeding and in pain. She was wet and waxy with her brilliant newness and my heart leaped out of my chest onto a pool of pride. Life appeared before my very eyes. A life that felt yet another pair of arms before she could feel my own that had carried the growing seed for what seemed a millennium. The strange man cuddled her and offered a smile. She would remember his voice forever.  He could see my anxiety crest as I fearfully took this new being into my life. I stared into a face that was my very own, a reflection of myself with eyes so alert that a mirror came to mind. I gently stroked her crown covered in a cinnamon softness and touched a perfect silken skin. I breathed in her essence and would remember that scent forever, a scent that would refresh me until the day I die.