Tag Archives: Emily Dickinson
Where’s the Frozen River?
I sit beneath a painting of Kerouac in thick shades of gray and try to digest the fact that I am older than he will ever be. I should be so privileged to pass Emily and Virginia. I’ll prefer mine … Continue reading
Filed under Morning Poems
No More Delivery
On farmer’s market day, she helps the blind man find his time to cross. The colors of a vegetable stand meld into one kaleidoscope wish—to do these things without announcing them as some addict’s letter to the world. This is … Continue reading
Filed under Afternoon Poems
Letter to Another World
Emily Dickinson’s soul mate rides a bicycle down my street. I can tell it’s him by the way he compresses his shoulders between parked and moving cars. Handsome and nimble, Emily, constant and quick.
Filed under Afternoon Poems
Distance Avails Not *
I like to correspond with the dead: Tell Emily what it’s like to be a woman alone in a room in the 21st. Ask Walt what he thinks of the Brooklyn Bridge 127 years after the fact. The fact is … Continue reading
Filed under Overnight Poems
Another Circle Poem
Twenty-first century letter boxers jump the fence into a dog park, follow text messages on the tiniest chance they might match up all the clues leading them to the diamond ring treasure. I’m back one and a half centuries with … Continue reading
Filed under Afternoon Poems
Emily Said It Too
This light has no logic. It heats up tinted images of you wrapping around the walls inside my solar of make believe. No outside truth will seep through to stain your well-defined face. The moment talked about, its contracting destination … Continue reading
Filed under Night Poems
Talking to Emily and Virginia
I am mute to the rain that falls for three minutes and the sunlight following in the wind. Mute to the women with children and those children smiling from strollers back at me. I am mute to unemployed flowers growing … Continue reading
Filed under Civil Twilight or Dawn Poems
