At Emily Dickinson’s House, 2003

Austin Wallace

At Emily Dickinson’s House, 2003


Just down the street she hid—and wrote—

Transcribing fevered Dreams—

One syllable—then two—became

The turbulence of Storms


I find her house marked on the map—

From here—five minutes south—

Outside a polar Wind takes aim—

Inflicts pain—with each—Breath


The winter sun and ochre paint—

A xanthic Potency—

So with the hands of one gone blind

I search—for Poetry


No Flowers blooming in the Snow—

No relics from a Myth—

Only stray strands of Gossamer—

Once left out—for a Moth


Inspecting hairpins—bed sheets—shoes—

I feel my Awe grow numb—

Then boredom—gradually—intrudes—

Prosaic as a thumb


Austin Wallace is a former teacher who now devotes his time to the Disability Rights movement. His poems have appeared in BlazeVox, Three Line Poetry, and Daily Dose of Lit.

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