woman on market st.

[duccio]

This came in my email Monday. It's the every other day installment of the poems of Emily Dickinson that I subscribe to from DailyLit. Many of the poems I can't quite relate to. The spiritual certainty of some of them often irks me and I hit the delete button, hardly having finished reading, but then there are the others that reveal doubt. They are worth waiting for...

This one seemed to come about a week late. I always hope somewhere down deep that I will hear something, see or feel something, but I am confirmed in my own certitude that I never will, and never have. Though this one coming late, it will do.

IV.

We cover thee, sweet face.
Not that we tire of thee,
But that thyself fatigue of us;
Remember, as thou flee,
We follow thee until
Thou notice us no more,
And then, reluctant, turn away
To con thee o'er and o'er,
And blame the scanty love
We were content to show,
Augmented, sweet, a hundred fold
If thou would'st take it now.


Emily Dickinson

Comments

[duccio]

I hear ya, sister.