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Visiting Emily Dickinson's House

Seeing Emily's Dickinson's bedroom, preserved as it was at her death, and the dresser where all her poems were found, was an almost overwhelming experience. I was so overcome, I almost fainted. Here is a revision of the poem I wrote about the visit. My first draft had some sentence fragments -- they were OK but I would rather be grammatically correct. I was also reminded of the visit to the Dickinson home by Abolitionist preacher Henry Ward Beecher, and this led me to add some imagery about the poems being confined in a dark close place like slaves in a slave-ship -- sudden after-the-fact inspiration. The poem is a little longer, but it also more clear, this and that, here and there, poems versus table versus dresser -- the first draft was looser but did not actually make sense as a description. Some say "First-thought best-thought" but I don't think so. So here it is:


Right there, feet from the bed she died in,
were the poems, sew…

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