Dickinson’s Dashes

In the bruised knee of circulation, Dickinson’s dashes
are expunged — her buzzing “Fly” too disquieting
for the myth of death (though none of us know it)
promising uninterrupted light. Like this —

I plait your knotted hair into braids,
tell you death comes for other people, not you,
darling, not you. Like this —
I dig you a narrative instead of a grave.

Isn’t that how we love each other? If love is lamination,
then a dash — this dried blood across the page’s knee —
is a knife for every worship. Cut, the director calls,
a curt way of unloving. But it is just the ooze of word.

The living, who play hide-and-seek with death,
are endlessly found — and the finding is foul
and necessary. With d — ashes, they dance — buzzing
and buzzing as they let down their braided hair.

Anna Veprinska is an assistant professor in the Department of English at the University of Calgary and the author of Empathy in Contemporary Poetry after Crisis. She was a finalist in the Ralph Gustafson Poetry Contest and has been shortlisted for the Austin Clarke Prize in Literary Excellence.

“Dickinson’s Dashes” is excerpted from Bonememory, copyright 2025 © Anna Veprinska. Published by University of Calgary Press as part of the Brave & Brilliant Series. Reproduced by arrangements with the publisher. All rights reserved.

Bonememory published on April 15.