Trying To Forget Emily Dickinson

Bereaved of all, I went abroad,
   No less bereaved to be
Upon a new peninsula, —
   The grave preceded me,

Obtained my lodgings ere myself,
   And when I sought my bed,
The grave it was, reposed upon
   The pillow for my head.

I waked, to find it first awake,
   I rose, — it followed me;
I tried to drop it in the crowd,
   To lose it in the sea,

In cups of artificial drowse
   To sleep its shape away, —
The grave was finished, but the spade
   Remained in memory.