Dickinson


Emily sings me a love letter. She brings a deep understanding when humanness, in all cruelty and ugliness, shines through in a life well lived writing poetry. Look for the door where a wall exists.

You are a fictional character
in my head.
You standing at the foot
of my bed.

I try to touch you.
You are gone.
Whispering softy,
I don’t respond.

Dig deeper still.
What do you see?
I think we could be friends.
Do you recognize me?

 

Talking out loud is scary.
My voice trembles when I listen.
Choice words echo in my heart.
My soul quakes when it is seen.

Emily is a fictional character after all.
I talk to her for days. Wait.
Is she speaking?
Did she answer me?

 

I do not consider myself a poet like Emily.  No person’s words mimic another, our voices our own. I only enjoy her poems.

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