Poems

Emily Dickinson in her own words: ‘A Tooth upon Our Peace’ (459)

I was sitting primly in the Parlour, holding my head proudly erect because I was about to skunk my brother Austin four games in a row in cribbage and the tinkling little ice cubes in his untouched lemonade had melted into soft little nubs where the glass sat on its damp coaster next to his pale fat hand…

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