I wish the Emily had lowered the basket
Of muffins down to me
As I rushed home from school.
Suddenly, hanging in front of me,
Muffins.
A cautious, small hand propelled into
The air by tippy toes until stumbling upon
The treat.
(Something my mother would have
Discouraged before dinner.)
Into the apron pocket it goes
Laying beside a forgotten sea shell
And dirt.
I might not have noticed Emily
Standing in her window holding
The rope.
I would not have seen her white dress
Or her eyes,
Gazing down at me,
Knowing of my death, seeing the fly
Buzz along side of me.
There she would have stood,
Her presence reigning over me.