Emily drank cemetery water, every single day

it was in her tea, she bathed in it too and when

she woke in the morning

she would splash it on her face before she combed her hair

and dressed for the day.

It is a small mercy  Emily never knew

that when she laughed or coughed or sneezed

cemetery water flew from between in lips, an invisible mist

that danced around her face like fireflies

or rabid fairies to music no one could hear.

I do wonder if Emily ever stood

on the bridge crossing the river

that carried the cemetery water to her home

and if she tossed flowers into the current

and watched them float away.

I took a few liberties in describing Emily drinking cemetery water- but sad to say it’s based in fact:

Apparently the Brontës all died so early because they spent their lives drinking graveyard water.