forgive me, dear

emily d.

i neglected to observe your birth anniversary on december 10 (you would have been 182 years old).

thank you for being my daily companion, spectre, spirit, subversive stitcher, maker of little things that got bigger, then bigger, against all hope.

thank you for this poem, as well,

for today, on this bleak & slanted december afternoon:

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons – 
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes – 

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – 
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are – 

None may teach it – Any – 
'Tis the Seal Despair – 
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air – 

When it comes, the Landscape listens – 
Shadows – hold their breath – 
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death – 

also, here are four poems (look up candland in the archive) and commentary i wrote in conjunction with my own daily emily dickinson reading practice.