Emily Dickinson by Linda Pastan

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Emily Dickinson

We think of hidden in a white dress
among the folded linens and sachets
of well-kept cupboards, or just out of sight
sending jellies and notes with no address
to all the wondering Amherst neighbors.
Eccentric as New England weather
the stiff wind of her mind, stinging or gentle,
blew two half imagined lovers off.
Yet legend won't explain the sheer sanity
of vision, the serious mischief
of language, the economy of pain.

Linda Pastan

Read poems about / on: weather, pain, wind

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Jim Foulk (4/8/2007 2:02:00 PM)
Linda you wrote a wonderful poem about my favorite poet, i think emily is one of the best, if not thee best poet ever. you did a great job on this one, a work of art.

John Tiong Chunghoo (9/29/2006 12:10:00 AM)
otherwise, what could she be living for?

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