Soon this won't be your home
You'll come back to appreciate the way
the light falls on the leaves
the quiet scent of this place
wood floors and soft hum
Family is somewhere, unheard
Standing alone in the house you grew up in
Leaving in September


Say Yes to the Dress

Time to work
with bowels and stomach evacuated
A nausea over static bridal magazines
Can’t sleep next to a fiancĂ© burning
and sticky with sweat
searing into the mattress
Come to the living room and smoke a bong on the center of the couch
close enclosed enclosed
All winter we cry for dry pavement
when the heat arrives we long for relief




A searing into the mattress
too nauseous to turn over
like I should    burst with child
A French braid too tight too loose
The dining room chairs slightly askew
wipe the linoleum
this will never come out
Face down in purple carpet that was once beige
the streaks on the window don’t go away
The candles submit to the hallway that seeps in
smoke up and go to bed
Copyright © a contemplation (Emily Jones) 2013. All rights reserved.