Oh Emily, my Emily...

There are some pretty memorable firsts: first bike (yellow schwinn, banana seat with basket), first kiss (Matt Altmyer, behind the garage, I was 5...does that count?) and first Banbury Cross donut (if you don't know what that is then you don't live in Salt Lake and have no idea what you're missing).

Do you also remember the first time a poem or poet affected you? The first time words were more than just a way to get information on a page, but a way to elicit thought, emotion; when you realized the words were more than a series of letters in in some particular order; when the words became paint on a canvas? I remember it well.

It was Emily Dickinson.

It still is.

I remember reading her poem "Much Madness is Divinest Sense" in an English class in high school and feeling like she had written it for me. The more I learned about her the more I felt endeared to her. I found myself reading her poetry every chance I got. I memorized them. She lived a very solitary life and throughout the awkwardness of my youth I felt like I understood her and if she were alive she would understand me, too.

Today I still enjoy reading her work.

While she uses delicate sometimes lightweight imagery, there is weight in her allusions and metaphors. I give you the first poem I read of hers that I have long loved, and in honor of my sister on her birthday I give you One Sister Have I in Our House. Do not fear, there will be more. And if you find yourself feeling something...anything, do share. Leave a comment and let me know how you like Emily.

Much Madness is divinest Sense —

To a discerning Eye —

Much Sense — the starkest Madness —

’Tis the Majority

In this, as All, prevail —

Assent — and you are sane —

Demur — you’re straightway dangerous —

And handled with a Chain —

-First published in 1890 after her death.

One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There's only one recorded,
But both belong to me.

One came the road that I came --
And wore my last year's gown --
The other, as a bird her nest,
Builded our hearts among.

She did not sing as we did --
It was a different tune --
Herself to her a music
As Bumble bee of June.

Today is far from Childhood --
But up and down the hills
I held her hand the tighter --
Which shortened all the miles --

And still her hum
The years among,
Deceives the Butterfly;
Still in her Eye
The Violets lie
Mouldered this many May.

I spilt the dew --
But took the morn --
I chose this single star
From out the wide night's numbers --
Sue - forevermore!

-written sometime between 1858 and 1861

The latter of the poems is dedicated to my sister Katherine, who is both the sister in our house and the one a hedge away. Happy Birthday my dear, dear friend. I love you.