Visiting the Bordens, August 2nd, 1892
I’m talking about being possessed by something.
Back out West, we called it heat lightning. Here,
something else. Maybe fester? I have a man—
he breeds the cattle and I sell them. At night,
he wraps his arms around me like garters.
I miss my house—scrabble of a roof, dewdrops
at night and lizards in morning— more and more
each day of this terrible trip. I miss your sweet lips,
scratch of bristle. Do you have the same longings?
Here, there are just walls inside walls,
step-sibling Andrew’s petty study. Quiet Emma.
And strange Lizzie, who seems bound by a box
of its own sort—a feeling, I must confess, not
entirely foreign to me, either. Now. Here.