10/4/2022 Poetry By Emalisa Rose Thomas CC
That strange aunt at the holiday table Her drawings, bizarre, of some obscurity’s etchings. Grandma Jean hung them to make make her feel “special,” The aunt at the table, that the kids felt compulsion to stare at, while holiday prayers were recited. Sporting some facial hair, clodhopper shoes, the spinster like shuffler, with the leopard skin knockoff bag, never came with a “man friend,” though Aunt Renee said, she probably thought best, not to bring one. Losing touch with the family, I hadn’t thought back to those times, till today at Aunt Abigail’s funeral, with the the calling of cousins, paying respect, sharing some latter day thoughts as adults now, admitting we saw parts of ourselves, through the years, that mimicked the aunt we once deemed as “strange.” When not writing, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and drawing. She volunteers in animal rescue. She walks with a birding group on Sundays. Some of her work has appeared in The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Anti Heroin Chic and other eclectic places. She can be reached at [email protected] Comments are closed.
|
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2024
Categories |