India

The Poetry of Emily Isaacson
 

Dried Burgundy Flowers

 

One love, true sentiment

The reed, dampened,

And a dolce affair

Though a ship direct our course

Over grey and ire.

 

The bridge of time, our port

And exploring, we wind our hearts

To one life.

 

Singing, I shall find one note

As the sail hums.

 

     Emily Isaacson 

Baby's Breath Wreath

 

The delicate moment when a new-born’s cry

Crossed the threshold, a minuet:

I was seated, and my purpose sealed,

With joy I marry and am brought near.

 

The circular purpose of a world

And the stormy islands, unchartered;

A mariner’s compass 

To guide our eyes. 

 

     Emily Isaacson

 

Glass Teapot

 

My teapot,

Countless pouring and clear diadem,

With invisible planets

  of color

In glass solar systems:

 

They cross overhead, their haloes,

True sons.

 

And the passengers sit

  at the backgammon table,

    in shaded summer linen,

A game with numerous

  endings,

Silhouetting the realm of chance

  and fate;

The sailors, resonant, lithe. 

 

       Emily Isaacson