Emily

Emily

Robles Wilson

Once in a great while, Death

Crosses my mind一the way

A stranger passes the door

Of my office and an instant

Later takes a backward step

To look in on me. Then he 

Is gone again: I put him

Out of my thoughts; One more

Strange guy, I tell myself.

Other times一though rarely一

It's a woman who stops, rests

The palm of one pale hand

On the doorframe, who tilts

Her head as if trying hard

To place me一Don't we meet

One day at New Sunyrna, drink

Martinis? Didn't the waitress

Claim to know both our names?

In the end who can manage

To keep the entrances locked?

Everyone uses this corridor

As shortcut：parking lot to

Patio bar. I'm nothing like

Emily Dickinson. Her door

Was kept tight shut; she so

Valued privacy: Death outside,

Emily waiting for the knock.