June 8th, 2012

cass, can you not

A poem not mine about women I love

With the ending more literally apropos than the rest of the lines, but the whole thing being also about them, this is for browncoatrebel in her birthday, browngirl during her recovery (and as thanks for her card), tigerbright for her general awesomeness (and, also, beautiful card), and for any and all of you, of whom legends will doubtlessly talk, but will not be able to explain.

Emily Dickinson, by Linda Pastan

We think of her 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.