Treasure Island

Nassy Fesharaki

(Dec 29 / Iran)

Aunt Great Moon

Emily Dickinson is my aunt
She was small, religious; pretentious
Deep inside she was lost; no lover
(In open) so she wrote in ding:
“Faith” is a fine invention
For gentlemen who see,
But Microscopes are prudent
In an emergency!

Aunt, like Emily was relatively isolated.
She could never accept the cultural marriage “original sin”.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years –
Bitter contested farthings –
And Coffers heaped with Tears!

She had sharp eye for beautiful art;
Appreciated bright colors
And was well read; a teacher.
She lost him; the first to recognize her.

My aunt, Emily-like unorthodox believer was innovative.
What were the ideals of the early travelers to the land?
She thought, now, under the leadership of her brother and his bride
(Stranger to local high minded morals of honesty and simplicity,)

She dressed simple, kept her hair straightened.
Often was ill at ease in other people’s company.
She gave the impression of being somewhat agitated and intense.
Her friend was I, with oil in hand to rub over her paining joints.
She referred to her frame of mind; vulnerability and need for protection.
Her seclusion came gradual; shyness and social situations, less and less socializing,
She spent most of her time in the family house, rarely meeting others.

Emily wrote over a thousand seven hundred poems
(Partly for/from mom’s Moon Aunt; a teacher in Fesharak.)

Submitted: Thursday, April 10, 2014
Edited: Thursday, April 10, 2014

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Topic(s): solitude

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