I love birds, and the bobolink has been an inspirational totem for me in many dreamscapes. His yellow hood reminding me of a Grimm Fairytale, his striped wings an omen from both worlds.
I am not sure you could have known how the future would have taken your work in. How the planet of youth– of young women and male scholars and poets– would have related to you. So many poems bring us into the day-to-day… yet so many bring us into the ethereal world. A world that you could, it would seem, clearly see from your vantage point.
From your room.
Often, I think of a certain book when I think of you. It is a stream of consciousness book called “A Room of Her Own.” It was written by Virginia Woolf. She was born several years before you died. From what I have read about your life and what you studied, I think you would have enjoyed this book, although some of the domestic elements were not those of yours, you still thought of them, and always, as the poet you were, you observed in a state of silence and in a state of curiosity. Watching the birds, watching the bugs, watching God.
There is a girl I studied with during college. She is currently studying entomology at the local university. I saw her many months ago, when I could still see my breath in the air. Instantly you came to mind, and I was in awe of her… if only to follow in the footsteps of Emily Dickinson…
for now I say, farewell, Emily