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


Dirty teeth

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

I hate

losing sleep to the sound of his dreams



The graceful slopes of limb on the live oak
Stretch lilting, up
And out
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.