Emery Pine
Bio
I’m a poet with sprinklings of fiction. I write with the soul, so I hope you find it interesting and relatable
Stories (73/0)
To the Mountains and Home
01/01/23 Dear Unnamed, So it is New Years once more, and you are still gone. Not that you could come back at this point, even if you wanted to. Though, I guess that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? You’re gone because you wanted to be. Funny how that works, how we always want something and someone else always wants the opposite. Like, I want you here, and you didn’t. So life goes, I suppose. What I find funnier, though, is that you would always say that “people in hell want ice water,” implying we all want something, but that doesn’t really mean shit because we don’t always get what we want. So, my question is this: why did you? Why did you get what you wanted when you knew full well no one else agreed? Why were your wants so much more important than all of your family’s and friends’ wants? Why do you get what you asked for when you’re the only one who wanted it?
By Emery Pine4 months ago in Poets
Broken Birds
01/15/23 Dear Unnamed, I see dark purple, painted nails picking at cuticles, peeling bits of skin away as if they are no more than little annoyances, rather than her perfection, and I wonder what she has to be anxious about. Her skin tears away from the fingers and she doesn’t even seem to notice she is bleeding, or that she is picking away parts of her that have never done any harm to her, nor anyone else. What does she have to be destraught over when she has her whole life ahead of her? She acts as if there’s no more time and she looks like her soul has crumpled to ash behind those eyes. Her eyes make me feel like I’m lost at sea, and it’s a welcome feeling. I love this broken bird in front of me, even if she hasn’t learnt to fly, just quite yet. I know she’ll get there one day, and I cannot wait for it, but I also dread the day she spreads her wings and learns she does not need me and flies away forever and a day. How do you say “I love you,” without it being a jail cell? Because, Unnamed, I love her, I truly do, but she’s still a flighty flightless bird, and she refuses to be caged by such sentiments, nor does she even believe their truth to begin with.
By Emery Pine4 months ago in Poets
Dear Mutti
Saturday, October 9, 1937 Dear Mama, I’ve started working. I was able to start working within the first few days after Eitan was fired. It’s hard being a working woman. I’m always so tired, but obviously that’s just par for course these days. Eitan has been staying home with Ruth while I work, so I’m glad we didn’t have to get someone else to watch her. We wouldn’t be able to afford it, which is why I’ve always stayed home with her.
By Emery Pineabout a year ago in Fiction
Dear Mutti
02/06/22 Thursday, September 23, 1937 Dear Mama, I married this man named Eitan Blettner a few years ago. You would love him. He is tall and handsome and the most thoughtful man I have ever met. He is intelligent and logical. He is so thoughtful and caring. He truly loves me, Mama. I am so grateful for him and adore him more than words can express. I wish you were able to meet him, Mama. The only problem is that he is Jewish, which was not an issue until a few years ago. Hitler has been in charge of the country for the last few years and he has made a decision that the Jewish community is problematic and untrustworthy. I love Eitan and he is perfect, and it makes me so devastated that he is not being valued simply because he is Jewish.
By Emery Pineabout a year ago in Fiction
Letter 01/29/22
01/29/22 Dear Unnamed, She smelt like cigarettes and perfume. It made me wonder when she would die. Is this too morbid? Too dark? I can’t help but wonder. Doesn’t she know she’s loved? That her son needs her to find him worth living for because he doesn’t think he is and he needs a sign to keep going? Doesn’t she know that if she goes, he will, too? That her mother will have two graves to cry over through the years? Does she not care or does she just not know? How nice it must be to not know. How nice it must be to not have that kind of pressure weighing you down. To feel like you have to live for someone else. But, who else would you live for? If you say “for yourself,” you’re a liar. None of us find ourselves worth living for. It’s why we put our worth into everyone and everything but us. It’s why her son needs her to say he’s worth it. It’s why she needs to live for him— because she won’t do it for herself. It’s like she doesn’t have the capacity to. She’s too far gone under the waves of sadness and cigarette smoke, too far drowned in the vodka and coke that she tries hiding from him. But he knows. He knows how lost she is. It’s part of why he needs to know he’s enough. He needs her to be ok, because if she’s not, then what justice is there in this world? What is there thatw’s right and safe, then? Because he doesn’t know and needs an answer.
By Emery Pineabout a year ago in Poets
Letter 11/16/21
11/16/21 Dear Unnamed, When you died, my mom asked me if it was ok if she asked someone to pray for me because losing you made me feel like I was the one who was dead. I was still going to church with her even though my belief in God was inconsistent at best. My belief died like you when you did. I thought she would’ve realized this, but I guess not. But I still went to church with her because it gave me time to be alone with her and talk. I went because my sisters and dad didn’t and I think it made her sad. I went for the blackberry and coconut Italian sodas. I went because I like the preacher’s voice. I had a lot of reasons to keep going, but I didn’t believe.
By Emery Pine2 years ago in Poets
