Postcard verso:
A PROTECTION OF PALMS
Centuries hold hands. Best to believe Miss Dickinson,
in her wish to work alone, but now she’s here—
my handwriting not too different from hers, our urge
to take dictation not dissimilar. Not a quaint thing—
a soul, nor out of date, that shared imagining,
holding of hands, hers so much smaller than mine,
but her palm so much stronger, the bones themselves,
as though God talked clearly then, a waterfall purely
falling. Friends were her words. I listen for mine.
—Christine Colasurdo