Why Did I Cry in Emily Dickinson's Bedroom?
An untitled poem
Why did I cry in Emily Dickinson’s bedroom?
I stood just inside the room, by her narrow bed
& gathered with my eyes:
wallpaper, fireplace, lesbian docent. Or should I write fire extinguisher.
That’s something incongruent.
My tears (my body making them) surprised me.
Am I a reincarnation of Emily Dickinson?
Probably!
She died right here at fifty-five, the docen…
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