The Works of Emily Easley
Emily Easley is a single mom with a passion for the written word. She is excited about life and is grateful for her journey.
All Poems © Emily Easley
aftermath, the beginning
I had some time to kill
before my next class, so
I rode with him back to his den
the plastic bags secured with duct-tape
made for noisy windows
distracting from the flappppppp flapppppp were
Empty pizza boxes at my feet
I felt small,
sitting so high off the ground like that
back at his place,
He asked if he could kiss me
I don’t remember if it was before or after
The daffodils took on new meaning
I looked down at the speckled concrete
Trying to say “no” without moving my lips
It was too late, his
Mouth full of tar
Pressed like glass bottles against my own
But his mouth tasted like opium, so it wasn't that bad
Now he’s calling me his girl
And I wonder if he knows how much
losing sleep to the sound of his dreams
The graceful slopes of limb on the live oak
Stretch lilting, up
like goddess configurations
or a tulip unfolding in those slow motion recordings.
Sometimes I curse my eyes for not being lenses-
the mind can capture a moment for only so long
and it’s true that no picture can capture
the entirety of your face.
Don’t forget these things, from your second spring.
You wanted to find acorns so I followed you.
There we found an exoskeleton.
It’s only February, but here the sun is bigger.
At night, after you have nestled into sleep,
I find my breath the same as yours.
Between inhales and exhales
I’m reminded of all that goes on beneath the skin.
There are infinite mitochondrial threads that cross over between us-
I picture them a vast intertwining of lavender and lilac,
the soft orange we have no memory of.