Finding Emily

A long time ago, a friend of mine gave me a book called "The Book of If." Subtitled "Questions for the Games of Life and Love," it's a collection of hypothetical questions like "If you found out for certain there was a Heaven and Hell, would you change your life?" and "If you were to perform in the circus, what would you do?" The questions are sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, and always good conversation starters. It's a fun little book to have around for parties or road trips or idyl nothing-to-do moments.

It was during one of those rare, idyl nothing-to-do moments that I flipped to page 300 something and read, "If you could recite a poem to your lover, which would you choose?"

“Hypothetical indeed,” I thought to myself. The only poem I can confidently recite is Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky"--not exactly lover material, but an impressive party trick!

And then, slowly, I remembered. I remembered Emily.

It's been years since I read Emily Dickinson's work, a constant companion in college. And so, I ran upstairs and dusted off a small, well-worn hardcover collection of her poems and found...

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port--
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!