Poetry Week - Day Two

You can't have poetry week without Emily Dickinson. She has a charming habit of not naming her poems. I am far to egocentric to let my poems go without a name. Here is one that is categorized in the Time and Eternity section of my all things Emily source:

I HEARD a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,	5
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I	10
Could make assignable,—and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then	15
I could not see to see.

Here is one of my own, entitled Tapdance

You follow. She knows it.
You smile. She runs.
You catch up. She giggles
You’re happy. She pouts
She hooks you. You like it
She tugs. You grin.
The line goes dead and you search for the bait;
You want to feel that tug
The hook in your heartstrings.
You’re screaming to hand them to her.
She’s bored. You dance.
She smiles. You delight.
She sighs. You watch her.
She loves it. You care.
What do you see? She’s just a tap dancer.
But you want her to dance.
Her tap. Your rush.
You’re her personal puppet, she holds fast to your strings.
She cannot make you happy. It will not last.
She will dance away. Leaving you dancing alone.
I will not be here when she is gone.

Mine seem to be constantly evolving. There are versions of them hiding all over my laptop. Who knows what it will say when I revisit it next.