Death XLVIII

Emily Dickinson

There's been a death in the opposite house
   As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
   Such houses have alway.

The neighbors rustle in and out,
   The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
   Abrupt, mechanically;

Somebody flings a mattress out, —
   The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that, —
   I used to when a boy.

The minister goes stiffly in
   As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
   And little boys besides;

And then the milliner, and the man
   Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
   There'll be that dark parade

Of tassels and of coaches soon;
   It's easy as a sign, —
The intuition of the news
   In just a country town.

Emily Dickinson lived in the Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts all her life. It is now the Emily Dickinson Museum.