Letters to Poets, Part I

Emily Dickinson

Photo Credit: Nevada Department of Wildlife

Dearest Friend,

I don’t know where this is going, but this morning I wondered what I might say to Emily Dickinson in response to one of her poems about the bobolinks (she wrote more than one poem about bobolinks. The three that I found are all lovely).

I supposed she was writing that poem directly to me (she was), and is waiting for a reply (she is.)

So I am sharing my note back to Emily with you, and also inviting you to compose a reply to a poet who stirred something in you enough to elicit a response, and if you are willing - to share it here. Email, in the comments, however you choose. If you are open to my sharing it with others on this substack, I may. I honestly don’t know how that would go, but we’ll figure it out. It might take a healthy portion of grace, but together, I think we’ll figure it out. Or you can just keep it to yourself. That’s also fine.

No pressure, but I do love this idea. Feels like it’s been brewing a long, long, time.

Oremus,

C

---

Dear Chris,

The Bobolink is gone —
The Rowdy of the Meadow —
And no one swaggers now but me —
The Presbyterian Birds
Can now resume the Meeting
He boldly interrupted that overflowing Day
When supplicating mercy
In a portentous way
He swung upon the Decalogue
And shouted let us pray —

Love, Em

---

Dear Emily,

I received your email early in the morning just before my walk with Carley. I had snapped her into her harness,  stuffed poop bags and a ziplock of cut treats into my backpack, filled a water bottle, and I was just ready to clip on her leash when my computer chimed. So I sat down to read what you had sent me. 

You always go to the head of the line. 

Carley paced behind me and barked at the window when her friends walked by. I asked her to be patient. She was having none of it. 

I took your note with me as we walked.  There was a sadness to it that I couldn’t quite shake. I spent so much of the walk composing my response, but as you know, the beautiful words on a walk rarely make it out of the woods, so this is all I have. 

---

I don’t want to be that guy, but I really, really want you to get out more. I’ve been in your room. I’ve seen the bobolinks, and I totally get how the absence of the rowdy of the meadow (loved that) might be almost too much to bear. But there is more, and I want you to taste it. See it. Hear it. Touch it. Smell it.

You say you still swagger, even after the Bobolink abandoned you. Of course you do. You are swagger. Who else could you be? What else might you do? But you are not the only one. I promise you. The only line I brought back from the walk was:

“Please, dear friend. Don’t place all of your hopes in the feathers of only one bird.” 

(Can you forgive me? I couldn’t resist, and it’s the only line I remember.)

---

Anyway, how about this?

Maybe tomorrow I can swing by. Let’s walk together. I know that Carley can be a lot, so I’ll drop her off at Dogtopia before I come, and I’ll pack a bottle of chilled wine and and a Yeti thermos with hot tea. I’ll pick up smoked salmon and lemon-dill hummus and cut veggies. I’ll get some of those ridiculous oranges from Whole Foods, and those croissants that I know you love. I’ll toss in the boom speaker and put some music on my phone in case we lose the signal and still want to listen to the secret cord together.  You don’t have to bring anything. Just wear comfortable, trustworthy shoes. 

I don’t know exactly where we are going. I don’t have a plan and I’m not looking for anything in particular.  But I’m certain  that we will find a meadow with birds and flowers and trees and bunnies and squirrels - all of them swaggering.

It might get messy.

And you, my dear Emily, will know that you are not alone. Maybe all creation swaggers. I think so.

I’ll be there around 11. I’ll give you a call when I leave Dogtopia.

Don’t forget. Trustworthy shoes.

Oremus,

C

(P.S. Loved the last line. ISWYDT 🙂)