top of page

Contemplating Emily And Effortless Living On The Drive Home


I want to live a life like Dickinson,

using capital letters to stroll with everything

there is, and was, and could be.

I want to hold hands with everything

that doesn’t, didn’t, or could never

feel the creases on my palms,

or comfort me in death –


How absurd it is, at least to me,

to contemplate a life where the Chesapeake

is swallowed in thirst,

grasping, with outstretched fingers, at the hulls

of the Monitor and Merrimac,

begging for swift, ironclad,

execution –


How preposterous my face would look,

distorted behind estuaries,

when the windshield of my Toyota

breaks over the crest of I-664

to find the Sun has been snuffed

out by endless ramps of spiraling

concrete –


How grim.

First published in Yes, Poetry, August 2017.

bottom of page