Weekly Feature

Empty Chairs

We play a game of chairs—

they who are gone and I

who stay behind in waiting mode.

Empty, they sit so quietly, filled only

with the very memories I hold dear.

And when they fall, my tears,

I find myself alone, constrained

from meeting those who left me here.

Outside the wind rustles fallen leaves

and I dream of light footsteps

nearing my bed and feel so warm

while a sigh swells my chest;

I wake with a start

in a dark and empty room.

One by one more chairs vacate

and I can’t help but wonder when

I fill mine with the same void

who will be left behind to watch

those empty chairs I dearly loved…

Womanhood

My menses are

Everything you

Need to know

All there is

About

Me.

I carry them as

Your curse while

Your masculinity

Is your pride

I safely

Deny.

These lines are edges

Of the knife I use

To cut your

Phallus to

Tiny puny

Bits.

And now I am free

From all the males

That dominated

Our mothers

My sisters

And

Me.

The world is full of unwritten poems. Emilia Rosa just picks them at random and commit them to words. Her poems appeared in several issues of Heartlands Today (Bottom Dog Press Books) and Firelands Writing Center (BGSU), both in Huron, Ohio. Recently she won first then second place in two poetry contests organized by the Huron Public Library. The poems were collected in two books: 44839 Poetry from a Zipcode. she comes from South America and speaks French, Portuguese, Italian, Spanish and some English.