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I imagine
Little scraps of paper
Tucked beneath the mattress
Jammed into a pocket
Pressed between pages of a book
Each scribbled upon in
Tightly condensed words
Incomplete sentences
Pages she didn’t write
And her
Dash –
Dash –
Dash –
Meant to carry forward
The sunset in a cup
To generations
Who search for meaning
Surface and hidden
Multiple and maddening
Placed there when she could not stop for Death –
But drank a liquor never brewed
And spilled words upon paper
Mighty as the heaven she could not reach
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Wow, Gloria, this is wonderful. I might add to the previous comment and say that the way you took pieces of her poems is very like both metaphors you used: 1) of little scraps of paper jammed here and there, and 2) of Dickinson's way of hiding clues among her words as keys and clues to the layers of meaning in the poem.
