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Bedroom Scene

dickinson

 

By the bureau you swam into black cloth,

belted red. Perfect mourning marked with fire;

sorrow for blood shed long ago in some

other bed. You dressed without looking at me,

not daring the glance that might have held

you for a stammering moment. Three steps

in stockings to the door, and swinging from

your hooked fingers, two red shoes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson