Dear Emily, I saw a wind-ruffled bird
Where two bricks met to hold the morning’s rain.
I felt the smallness of my body and it thrilled me.
I am sorry for tearing the silk of your dress.
Would you please seal this before I send it?
Dear Emily, when I am leading the dance,
Shall I put my right hand out, graciously,
Or my right foot out, declaringly?
Shall I turn my hand about her head
Or let her spin herself?
When the words feel bitter in my throat,
Is it best to take the water or the gin?
Dear Emily, when the night swallows
My own bitterness down–
Dearest, dearest Emily–
Does it hurt to die every time.
Tell me, I will never close the book.