from Beerstorming with Charlotte Brontë in New York
Referencing the Collection
Charlotte, how do you feel, here
among the brownstones instead
of Helstones? That “lump of perfection”,
Rose York? What can be said in longhand
next to your rushed slant? Cursively,
we are not alike, as Martha to Mary
Taylor. Not sisters but friends,
merely miles by moorland in one respect
though continents, nay worlds
apart where we will end.