A Letter from Emily Dickinson on the Prospect of Marriage
I am happiest—waiting—
The thought of my name—reined—to yours
makes the morning air crisper.
But the thought of working with your servants
—as if we were a team of horses—
ready to carry you
wherever your voice demands
makes me nervous—a wild horse
in an open field—the sky whipped
by thunder. I am incorrigibly shy.
I long to be stroked—but
by Bob Bradshaw
Editor’s Note: The last line is perfect. Also, the dashes recall Ms. Emily’s fondness for that particular textual sigh, yet also function properly within the narrative of this poem, giving the lines just enough weight for a reader to appreciate the pause.
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