To make a prairie, by Emily Dickinson

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few. by Emily Dickinson, 1755

Where Thou art—that—is Home

Where Thou art—that—is Home— Cashmere—or Calvary—the same— Degree—or Shame— I scarce esteem Location’s Name— So I may Come— What Thou dost—is Delight— Bondage as Play—be sweet— Imprisonment—Content— And Sentence—Sacrament— Just We two—meet— Where Thou art not—is Woe— Tho’ Bands of Spices—row— What Thou dost not—Despair— Tho’ Gabriel—praise me—Sire— Emily Dickinson

Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes

First, her tippet made of tulle, easily lifted off her shoulders and laid on the back of a wooden chair. And her bonnet, the bow undone with a light forward pull. Then the long white dress, a more complicated matter with mother-of-pearl buttons down the back, so tiny and numerous that it takes forever before … Continue reading

Hope

Hope Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune–without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chillest land, And … Continue reading