“Dwell in possibility.”   –Emily Dickinson

 Emily in Amherst

 Whitewashed walls and drifts of snow, 
a narrow bed in a narrow room.
Kettle on the hearthfire steams,
shadows weave and wobble, cast
ghostly forms and faces on the beams.

 Each day not unlike the last,
she fills a box with slips of paper.
Shadows weave and wobble, cast
evening ghosts and lights aflutter
as the first bright flakes come falling fast.

Sunbeams, cloudy forms of foam,
shadows’ weave and wobble cast
a ship comes sailing through the gloom,
white sails, mist, and cloaking fog,
saltspray, purple petals, stalks of broom.

The kettle on the hearthfire sings.
Outstretched on the bed, eyes closed,
she fills a box with slips of paper.
Beyond four walls she lives a dream,
feet that lightly pirouette and caper.

She fills a box with slips of paper,
evening ghosts and lights aflutter.
Narrow bed in a narrow room.
Windowpanes begin to shudder,
wheels come spinning up the road alone.

 Ships come sailing through the gloom
up the old, tree-shadowed river,
stretched prone on the bed, eyes closed,
beyond four walls she lives adream.

Whitewashed walls, drifts of snow and foam.
Horses stamp, black coachwheels creak and groan.

Bio:

John Damon, a professor of medieval literature and linguistics at the University of Nebraska-Kearney, received his PhD and MA from the University of Arizona after serving as a high school English teacher in Washington and Arizona.  His career began with a degree in Creative Writing from the University of Oregon.  His creative work has appeared in a wide range of journals, from Modern Haiku to Ellipsis …