Poetry by Emalisa Rose

“Moratorium on meatballs”
             By Emalisa Rose

I told him I can’t make them
again; that I see their eyes
through the grid of the mixture
I’d ground up in the blender
his mother once gifted us with.

Through the brown bloody sop
that I’d squeeze through my
fingers, though I know that he
loved them for twenty-five winters,

all I could see are those eyes
looking up, asking me -

“Are you really a vegan?”

- When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and hiking. She volunteers in animal rescue and tends to a cat colony in the neighborhood. She enjoys her new passion, “birding,” and walks twice a month with a group, through the area’s trails.

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