Doug Mathewson

Amherst, Massachusetts

From my kingdom I have a perfect view of Emily Dickinson’s house. My kingdom is five feet long and chained to a mysteriously green pipe with brass fittings. On one end is the Lone Wolf Cafe. Five feet away at the other end is the Black Sheep Bakery. Either end smells delicious; mid-bench the irony is tasty. Local universities have recessed till fall; the streets are student-free and quiet.

Until my bus arrives, the royal agenda is to drink ginger tea and read poetry. The dollar anthology I bought with no cover includes a playful poem of love by Matthew Dickman, who has written the line, “Your ass is like the shopping mall at Christmas.”

I spill my tea!

I laugh aloud (recalling a memory so sweet).

Oh Emily, Emily, how can I explain?

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