to the author belongs
the alterations
do not mess with my punctuation
says emily d
clothed in white
to mourn her father’s death
reclusive
imprisoned
some might say
I might envy
her writing monastery
night visions sang to her
like your heart beats
a code I always hear
ever near
yet absent
loss can bury
a sensitive soul in grief
after great pain, a formal feeling comes-
she wrote
if I cannot have equality I want nothing of love
she says
I do not know
how to alter these
lines and curves called words
much less how to add
dots or dashes to line a line
(c) 2018