Penned in tribute to the divine Ms. Dickinson by this poet, at the tender age of nineteen.

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Recorded Reading (1:20): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ihzm9fh8zivty9kyz0ywe/After-Emily.mp3?rlkey=ce5d5gysq1krlhrgqgzw03mkh&dl=0

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After Emily

Ah, this sweet intoxication
This benign, divine embrace!
This poor laborer in darkness
Has achieved a state of grace!

‘Tis a crisp and sparkling fount
Of purest wisdom cleanses me
It rinses out my spotted soul
Massaged by hands I cannot see

Never was there sweeter music
Than the crickets make tonight
Never was the mist so rosy
Never were the stars so bright

I exper’ience all creation
All creation nurtures me
This humble form of mundane clay
Can handle no more ecstasy

The drums of duty sound the pace
I must depart this lovely place
‘Ere my soul leap forth from me
To dwell anon in inner space

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This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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