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…
My menses are
Need to know
All there is
I carry them as
Your curse while
Is your pride
These lines are edges
Of the knife I use
To cut your
And now I am free
From all the males
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.