It happened everyone! Emily Dickinson got published in The Springfield Republican, all of Amherst pauses to celebrate her and her incredible accomplishment, and Death himself stops to hand her the keys to the Underworld and awards her immortality!
Just kidding. Emily gets published and the world keeps turning because people are busy and they all have lives. Our girl turns invisible and gets to listen in on what everyone thinks about her. Meanwhile, the events in the barn pay off as we learn that the profits from The Constellation are being used to fund John Brown’s raid on Harper’s Ferry. And as every good American History student knows, this totally works and there are no bad consequences whatsoever… Just kidding (again).
Digressions include getting an end-of-life plan, Patricia Highsmith, and lots of unexpected bodily fluids. Join us, won’t you?
As always, you can email us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Here are two Emily poems for today:
I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –
When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door –
When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!
Fame is a bee.
It has a song—
It has a sting—
Ah, too, it has a wing.