Monday, December 9, 2013

Ah Emily

I woke this morning with a clear head, bright white snow outlining the trees, and gloriously, a walk to shovel.  It may not be as exciting as the winter wears on.  Still -- today it is.  And -- a poem by Emily Dickinson greeted me in my e-mail -- #505.  When she died, I understand she left poems on scraps of paper in her bedroom.  Quite a picture.  Ah Emily.

Ah Emily
You left scraps of paper 
With so many words.
The ones who cared
The ones who knew
Collected up your poems
When you died,
Put them in order,
Named them with their first line,
Gave them each a number.
Ah Emily
I picture you in your bedroom
In poetry.
It poured through you,
Drifted around you
Like the snow,
It holds the ground
This morning,
Bright in the sun.
Ah Emily
They shoveled your walk
Named and numbered
Each flake
After you died.

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