Letter From Emily, Virginia Farm Country
by Danna Molly Weiss
The sun is slipping like a lucky gold coin back into God’s pocket for the night
And I am writing, daring as Emily Dickinson beneath my prim parted hair
And the sharp eaves.
The boys wrestle before the laughing fire.
The kittens groom their claws as carefully
As butlers at the Ritz polish shoes at night.
I watch the three-legged dog sit at the slope of the upper field,
Hopeful, yellow, broken.
The tea will have grown cold once I’m through listening to the lake freeze for the night,
Drawn my hands to the half-hearts of my cheeks,
Just waiting for a death, a love letter,
The snow to thaw, the earth to quake,
The wind to break something with its banter, the waves to part for my safe passage.
The dog turns towards my candle, tucks her paws under her chin.
Her eyes follow my pen side to side faithful as the hour clock hand
Marking time on the mantle.
Danna Molly Weiss has been published in Mudlark, Steel Toe Review and other journals. She is from Charlottesville, Virginia, but currently living in the Middle East. She is in the process of editing her first collection of poems and writing her second.