theradishpress

Saturday, April, 5, 08

XIV

Filed under: letters to emily — theradishpress @ 9:20 am

I had originally planned to name this blog Letters to Emily. It is a reference to my favourite Emily Dickinson poem, and a name I like to use every now and then. It was my myspace, a still un-made zine, and now a category in this blog. I figure, why not write a poem of hers here every now and then for enjoyment, or discussion, or ignore it if you like.

Emily Dickinson has that Chris McCandless sort of pull on me. Like maybe this world was just wrong, and she knew it like he knew it and I know it, only I let it hold me back. They didn’t.

I dreaded that first robin so,

But he is mastered now,

And I’m accustomed to him grown, –

He hurts a little, though.

I thought if I could only live

Till that first shout got by,

Not all pianos in the woods

Had power to mangle me.

I dared not meet the daffodils,

For fear their yellow gown

Would pierce me with a fashion

So foreign to my own.

I wishes the grass would hurry,

So when ’twas time to see,

He’d be too tall, the tallest one

Could stretch to look at me.

I could not bear the bees should come,

I wished they’d stay away

In those dim countries where they go:

What word had they for me?

They’re here, though; not a creature failed,

No blossom stayed away

In gentle deference to me,

The Queen of Calvary.

Each one salutes me as he goes,

And I my childish plumes

Lift, in bereaved acknowledgement

Of their unthinking drums.

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