by an image charmed

"Visiting at 280 Main Street, Amherst"
by Yeo Wei Wei

The leaves on these trees are shields from light
that spear our trespass upon her dress
As white as snow to veil a heart
blood-rich with tricks and cares too dark.
The single square pocket is smug and silent,
once where words wait their turn for tuning.
Emptied sweet wrappers nestle in the pocket
hugging their new company, short lyrics
hiding tall demands.
On these stairs she would have stood,
wrapping her fingers around a pencil
to secure a place like a dash,
palms astride a strange new song
as old as time, unpicked fruit from Eden.
This is the home of Miss Emily
famous in her day for the gingerbread she baked -
in rolled-up sleeves and floury face she had
a homely guise for sherry eyes, sharp ears, and steadfast knowing,
a soul like a bird, like the saint from Assisi -
she hid her savvy as she sipped her sherry
New England's self-sure solitary.

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The poem was written after a visit to Emily Dickinson's homestead in November or December 2004. The photo was taken on that day itself. Dickinson wore only white after turning thirty, and there was a replica of one of her white dresses on display on a mannequin at the top of one of the stairways. It was also during the tour of the house that I learnt that Dickinson loved to bake. After she became a recluse, confining herself mainly to her bedroom (and this is, not coincidentally I think, the room with the best view of the road from town centre to the house), she continued to bake for the children in the vicinity. It was her custom to ring a bell to alert the children and when they were gathered under her window, she would lower a basket of baked goodies down to them. There's an excellent chapter about Emily Dickinson and the house in Diana Fuss's book The Sense of An Interior.