Celebrating Emily

Today is the 194th birthday of Emily Dickinson, born in 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts. Her work was often nature themed which is what draws me to her poetry. As someone who finds comfort and inspiration in nature and gardening, I feel a kinship with poets who feel the same, like Emily, like Mary Oliver.

Last February, I wrote a little flash Fiction - a micro really - in Kathy Fish’s Flash Immersion Extravaganza workshop in her Substack, The Art of Flash Fiction. (Highly recommend!) I didn’t actually share it in the workshop but it was initiated and inspired by her prompt. Part of the prompt was to use these words

gloves, labradoodle, newspaper, ghost, lullaby, leap

and to give the piece a great title.

I used all the words and chose what I think is a great title; one that is true because I did write the story after seeing her obituary online. I don’t remember how I decided on an Emily themed piece but I remember learning about her dog, Carlo, while researching her online. Carlo and the obituary became the instrumental details in creating the piece.

Below I’ve shared the original first draft and the revised and final micro that was published in Gooseberry Pie.

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First draft:

After Reading a Newspaper Clipping of Emily Dickinson’s Obituary Online

“Leap,” he said.

We are walking through a cemetery reading tombstones of people who are now ghosts. I look at him in confusion.

“Leap?”

“That’s what they’ve done. Whether by choice or by push, they’ve all taken the leap. Have you noticed how the word sounds like the action? Death is action first, then the lack of.”

I remove my gloves and pass my hands over the inscription on the headstone of Emily Dickinson:

Called Back

The leaves in the red oaks seem to whisper these words like a lullaby as they rub each other gently in the breeze. The mood is reverent.

Suddenly, our dog Emily, a labradoodle, gives a little yip and lies down with her head on the grave.

“Do you know Emily had a dog named Carlo?” I ask.

“No.”

“I read online that she became more reclusive after his death. She once said ‘They are better than Beings – because they know – but do not tell’.”

Emily leaps up with an excited bark, trots away with her nose in the air while the oak leaves sing.

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Final micro:

After Reading a Newspaper Clipping of Emily Dickinson’s Obituary Online

Leap, I think, That’s what they’ve done whether by choice or by push, they’ve all taken the leap into death. I walk through the cemetery reading tombstones of people who are now ghosts before finding Emily Dickinson’s grave. Removing my gloves, I pass my hands over the headstone inscription, Called Back, while leaves in the red oaks seem to whisper the words like a lullaby as they rub each other gently, reverently in the breeze. Suddenly Emily, my labradoodle, gives a little yip and lies down with her head on the grave. I read online that Emily became more reclusive after her dog’s death and once said “They are better than Beings – because they know – but do not tell.” My Emily rolls over the grave, leaps up with an excited bark, and runs through the long grass while the oak leaves sing.

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The digital copy of Emily’s obituary is here.

A bit I read about Carlo is here.

More about Emily in Jesse Paris Smith’s Substack is here. A wonderful read!

Image via domestika.org