Emalyn Sharp George
I’m not a pretty ornament
to hang up on a tree
Or set up on a pedestal
for all the world to see
I’m under no obligation
to be a nice lady
If you want to push me too far
you’ll see what a nightmare
I can be
like you mean it
like you care
I’ll do the same for you
After all, it’s only fair
Treat me like an afterthought
and see how lonely you will be
I love myself too much
to be with someone
Emalyn Sharp George
I’ve always hated beginnings.
I have an irrational fear of the unknown.
You always said it would be okay.
You assured me that I wouldn’t be alone.
I suppose that’s still true.
I just assumed you’d be here too.
I know that it’s naive to believe that things can’t change,
But that’s what love will do to you.
The only thing worse than a start,
Is the end of something good.
I can’t do anything about it this time,
Although I really wish that I could.
This is the first that I never wanted.
I waited by the phone all night,
But you didn’t call.
You weren’t here to say that you loved me,
Instead, I heard nothing at all.
I thought about ringing you up,
But I knew if I tried,
It wouldn’t be your voice on the other side.
I have to accept the truth that you’re not coming back to me,
And that this is the first day of many.
Her pink dress billows in the wind as she gets into my car. I am amazed that a woman like her would ever speak to someone who grew a beard so he’d look like a man and wears button-down denim shirts to conceal his hidden insecurities. She grasps my hand, clasping our fingers together like a locket. I smile in sheer ecstasy, knowing what her diamond ring means.
The ticking of the clock
Proved to us our temporary youth
That these days won’t last
The days when
we laugh underneath the moonlight
Before I leave to head home
Guided by a shining star
we dance in your parent’s kitchen
The only music our beating hearts
And whispers of loving oaths
you cry in longing
Wishing that my feet were glued
On the ground I stand.
These days are temporal
But we are pleased to know
That the fleeting
Soon will be the forever.
They weaved through the rows
Picking cotton bolls, leaving
Barren stalks, standing like
Skeletons in the sunshine.
The years passed
grains of sand
in the hourglass of time
Dallas went to the navy and
Travis went to work
They reconvened amongst the cedars and the pines
“The Chambers Christmas Tree Farm”
The brothers worked together again
In the silhouettes of Christmas trees at sundown
Their hands no longer picked cotton bolls
Or trimmed fragrant pines
Now they grew old and frail
Dallas passed in ‘11
Granddaddy saw Jesus last Tuesday
They are together again
Weaving through golden streets
Resting from all their labors in eternity
Air so cold that it cuts my lungs,
As I walk across the lichen and moss-covered yard,
Passing chickens that are gathered around old bread.
I strike my boots on splintered porch
And knock in rhythm on the door.
The door opens a void of dark
And sunlight flies in
Only to be absorbed by her face
Lips curling into a smile
When she sees me.
The light of her smile
Reflects back blindingly
Filling me with gladness
As I see her in Sunday best
Gray dress becoming wedding gown
In my eyes.
My bones something old
My joy something new
Her scarf something blue.
Sunday mornings bring
Green diamonds are interspersed throughout
Another diamond is floral print
I see a loose thread escaping on the right side
Her mouth was a gaping void
Black empty and silent
Once it was filled with
Blue diamonds join the pattern
Some are irregular now
It seems like the pattern
Words that traveled the sides of a scale
Some too vulgar for my young ears
Others sweetened with diabetic love
Breaks down as you stare
With different themes
The hospice nurse arrived at 3:25
All I remember was a bag of cat litter
To destroy the narcotics
New patches of fabric that remind me
All about those days that seem like a blur
The dusk obscures the blush pink diamonds
Fading them out into a washed out white
A stretcher rolls through the hallway
It won’t fit through the door
Three men carry her out
Together, diamonds become stars
Displaying a multi-colored brilliance
That only neuropathic hands could create
I make biscuits in the kitchen
Rolling dough on bare countertop
Fighting back tears
On top of the patchwork sits a small heart-shaped note
“I love you, Granny”
The tears don’t stop this time
Adorned with a crown
Of hoary hair
Shuffles his way toward
The sacred desk,
A pulpit that could
Swallow him up.
He ascends to his office,
A place that he once
Filled, now it seems
To fill him, with
A life he longs
He opens his mouth
The mouth that
Filled the air with
Melodious song and passioned
Preaching struggles to
Fill his lungs and
Preach with all
His word is the old,
Old story, the one he has loved so long. His
Sermon lacks the shine It used to have
When he was young.
As he struggles through
He exhorts the people to
“Heed the voice of the prophet,
Before it is too late”
As a man
Who is aware
Of his own
Resting against a pine tree
a soft spring breeze passes by
And tickles my cheek
The blanket of pine-straw
Doesn’t protect me from the moisture
Of a winter-long rain
A Bible lies open on my lap, pages fanned by the wind
And the mossy turtle displaces a chunk of lichen
As he moves on to the grass behind his rock.
There are stars in the sky
Lined up in rows
In one, I spy a woman taking off her clothes
In another, there is a couple shouting out their woes
When did the stars become so narrow?
When did they fall in line?
What exactly are they climbing to?
-that red blinking light in the sky!
I miss the hunter;
I miss the bears;
I miss the dogs-
How they bite and tear.
Crabs, Bulls, and Dragons (oh my!)
Dying twins- heroes of old.
Stories etched in the sky itself
Erase them well
Fill the sky with senseless human greed
As if that is all we need.