Thursday, April 5, 2018

Emily Dickinson

Much madness is Divinest sense --- Emily Dickinson

She sits on my shelf, reminding me about a world and words forgotten
taken down I wonder how many Emily's have come to the planet?

how many poems written about them, by them, about a world
which silences Emily's and Anne's and Susan's.

How many voices have been heard because they were embodied
by an Emily who lived, who spoke so many years ago

in my lexicon, the years have gone quickly      Emily Dickinson offers
me a voice still pertinent  still valued.

Auggie ringing his bells at breakfast does not care or recognize Emily
but I, his gg am cherished        not for my words  rather for my arms

will I live on, carry influence through the years?    in decades from now
will someone remember my words or wish they could?

Today I am exhausted by so  much loved shared,  hugs given, stories read
gg demands ( requests?) made

could I desire more longevity of presence or influence,  but how or why when
I have littles and bigs who hold me as precious   gifted by sheets to wash.

It is April fools day and it is Easter   I live in a world filled with divine madness
does my facebook page make a difference, will I be labelled rebel, dissident

i cannot find a way,                to fear when there are mothers     so many
mother's whose empty arms carry children lost to famine, to war, to hatred, to abuse.

I am aware of madness (by my definition) in this world
it becomes so important to read to write another story

one written by trees in bud, bulbs pushing green through frozen earth
purple blooms mistaken for blueberries,  noisy houses on holiday weekends.

gkn April 2018

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