The Fly Reflects On Emily Dickinson’s Death by Bob Bradshaw

The Fly Reflects On Emily Dickinson’s Death

“I heard a Fly buzz — when I died —“
—Emily Dickinson

Without rehearsal
she pulled her “big moment” off—
dying as she wished,

quietly as eyes closing—
an awkward silence

like that between storms
on the coast.

As I recalled Emily
and following the blaze
of her auburn hair

past her beloved Indian pipes,
blue trumpeting gentians
and crown imperials

I hummed, fervently
—the way others sing
old Christian hymns.

Emily lay as still
as a poem on a page
as I settled on her pillow.

I didn’t expect a King
to speak but I rubbed
my hands nervously

when talk of a will
entered the room.

Interposed between us
and the window’s light
were the bereaved

—and talk, talk, talk
of portions not yet

A chill numbed the air.
I pulled my wings closer.

They were a flimsy shawl
in a thinning

by Bob Bradshaw

Editor’s Note: This poem uses anthropomorphism to great effect, making it a skillful and interesting tribute to Emily and her fondness for personification.


Leave a Reply




©2006—2023 Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY — Privacy Policy

%d bloggers like this: