My Impossible Mourning

Photo by Izzy Bliss

By Sydney Shaffer

This time of year I think 

about Emily Dickinson. 

She is always on my mind

when the flowers beside 

my home begin to bloom. 

The cherry blossom trees 

I pass on the way to the grocery 

store remind me of her happiness.

She would love to breathe the air 

of this warmness that causes me 

complete despair. 

I used to like to think Emily 

and I were alike but I now 

know the stall of the growth 

of green makes me feel alive and she 

beamed in the glow of the slow rising 

of petals and sunshine. 

Yet we both bathe in the softness 

of our lovers and that is what makes 

me remember that pastel yellow of the sun 

means my time is coming in just a few months.

It always comes back,

I wish she could too. 

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