emily-dickinson

Her breast is fit for pearls,But I was not a "Diver" - Her brow is fit for thronesBut I have not a crest,Her heart is fit for home-I- a Sparrow- build thereSweet of twigs and twineMy perennial nest.

She died--this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun.Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the mortal side.

Why else do we write and write except to move our readers?

They call each other `E._ Elvis pickswildflowers near the river and bringsthem to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sportsLevis and western blouses with rhinestones.Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousersand T-shirts, a letterman__ jacket from Tupelo High.They take long walks and often hold hands.She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.Emily__ poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and RichardNixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoonhe will play guitar and sing __ Taste A LiquorNever Brewed_ to the tune of __ove Me Tender.__mily will clap and harmonize. Alonein their cabins later, they__l listen to the riverand nap. They will not think of Amherstor Las Vegas. They know why God made themroommates. It__ because Americawas their hometown. It__ becauseGod is a thing withoutfeathers. It__ becauseGod wears blue suede shoes.

All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.