Sunday Poetry Break

Yes, it has been too long since I've posted here. Yes, some stuff has been happening personally that has distracted me. And then there's all that's happened in these ten days As The Anglican World Turns. But tonight I don't have the energy to comment on the Episcopal scene and especially the actions in San Joaquin. Maybe tomorrow.

Some of you are aware I majored in literature in college and graduate school. Given all the books and plays and poems I have read, sometimes things happen that call to mind certain snippets from the English lexicon.

This is the one that came tonight. With thanks to Emily Dickinson.

After great pain a formal feeling comes –
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore?
And yesterday–or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow–
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.