Contemplating Emily Dickenson On An Unseasonably Cold And Wet Tuesday Afternoon In May (5/17/11) Poem by Ryan Cole

Thinking about the thing with feathers that Emily spoke of so long ago

as she sat, alone, in her curtained room

Did she know about all she missed

A lover's breath upon her neck as they become one

It's possible to know what you've never had

Don't I know about that thing with feathers, taking flight against all odds

Did she dare to dream of love, the touch of a hand upon her heart

alone in her curtained room, so long ago

Do I dare believe in that thing with feathers

alone in this rented room,

as I contemplate Emily Dickenson

on an unseasonably cold and wet Tuesday afternoon in May

Yes, I dare