Monday, March 30, 2009

hope is the thing with feathers

because emily dickinson is wonderful - and because she was such a badass, and had hope, even in the midst of life just not being tidy or easy. and when i forget to hope, because i am tired or all up in my head, or angry, or sad, and not letting myself feel or be awake, here is emily, a reclusive spinster genius whose times did not acknowledge her absolute genius as a poet and thinker and whose suitors didn't stick and whose family didn't understand her ...
and we live in what feels like a "sore storm" and yet the bird keeps singing if we listen. and it won't ask a crumb.


"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 on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.

"god and nature - i neither knew" she wrote. but she was lying.


Laurel said...

Lovely :-).

Ariele Danea said...

that's my inspire-poem for my quill tattoo.
my favorite of hers.