She wrote to you, so many pages

Of a life that she once held

Dear. She penned such words of truth

And immediately stuffed them away,

Stuffed them under a mattress.

(I wonder if she felt duress.)

She wrote such pages, lines of her life

Never again to see the light of day.

Stuffing is what they have become

Until that time when the time is undone.

I can see her, smiling as she stuffs

All these pages under the mattress.

She had become a stuffer of pages.

03/23/2005

Author's Note: Hats off to Dickinson.

Posted on 12/19/2006
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