Dear Emily D,
I finally get it. I think I understand why you want retreat into your home and write wonderful poetry--with dashes--and random Capitalization.
I've always loved your work. I mean, you are a genius, and one of the best American poets--ever. It's hard not to be swept away with your words, but I've never understood you and the root of your crazy mind. Why were you cut off from the world? What could happen? I mean, they are just people, they aren't going to bite your head off...
... The fear is real, though. And it's paralyzing. Such fear can cripple the soul. I've only had a few experiences with it--just this summer, in fact--but it's made me so much more aware of people, like you, dear Emily.
I'm sorry you didn't live in a time with 21st century doctors, councilors, helpful medication, etc. I'm sorry that you had to suffer so.
You are appreciate, and you speak to so many people. So thank you. I'll now share a poem of yours, picked at random, for my blog.
Shannon
Forever -- is composed of Nows -- (690)
Emily Dickinson
Forever -- is composed of Nows --
'Tis not a different time --
Except for Infiniteness --
And Latitude of Home --
From this -- experienced Here --
Remove the Dates -- to These --
Let Months dissolve in further Months --
And Years -- exhale in Years --
Without Debate -- or Pause --
Or Celebrated Days --
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies --
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