—Hope is the thing with feathers. Here is a truth: I thrive on hope. But yet, here is another: if you fill a pillow with feathers, I cannot sleep— I wake in the middle of the night, heavy-chested and warm, throwing off the dark as if it were a spare blanket meant for… Read More Dear Emily—
#670 (“One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted—“) One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted— One need not be a House— The Brain has Corridors—surpassing Material Place— Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting External Ghost Than its interior Confronting— That Cooler Host. Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, The Stones a’chase—… Read More Poem of the Day: Emily Dickinson
