Too Few the mornings be

text by Emily Dickinson

1. Too Few the Mornings Be

Too few the mornings be,

Too scant the nights

No lodging can be had

For the delights

That come to Earth to stay

But no apartment find

And ride away.


2. If All the Griefs I Am To Have

If all the griefs I am to have,

Would only come today,

I am so happy I believe

They’d laugh and run away.


If all the joys I am to have

Would only come today,

They could not be so big as this

That happens to me now.


3. The Bustle in a House

The bustle in a house

The morning after death

Is solemnest of industries enacted upon earth.


The sweeping up the heart,

And putting love away

We shall not want to use again until eternity.


4. This Is My Letter to the World

This is my letter to the world

That never wrote to me,

The simple news that nature told,

With tender majesty.


Her message is committed

To hands I cannot see;

For love of her sweet countrymen,

Judge tenderly of me.

5. You Cannot Put a Fire Out

You cannot put a fire out;

A thing that can ignite

Can go itself, without a fan

Upon the slowest night.


You cannot fold a flood

And put it in a drawer,

Because the winds would find it out,

And tell your cedar floor.


6. Bee! I’m Expecting You!

Bee! I’m expecting you!

Was saying yesterday

To somebody you know

That you were due.


The frogs got home last week

Are settled and at work,

Birds mostly back

The clover warm and thick.


You’ll get my letter by the seventeenth;


Or better

Be with me

Yours, fly.


7. Poor Little Heart!

Poor little heart!

Did they forget thee?

Then dinna care! Then dinna care!


Proud little heart!

Did they forsake thee?

Be debonair! Be debonair!


Frail little heart!

I would no break thee;

Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me?


Gay little heart!

Like morning glory

Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be!

8. I’m Nobody! Who Are You?

I’m nobody!

Who are you?

Are you nobody too?


There’s a pair of us!

Don’t tell!

They’d advertise you know!


How dreary to be somebody!

How public, like a frog

To tell your name the livelong June

To an admiring bog!


9. How Happy Is the Little Stone

How happy is the little stone

That rambles in the road alone,

And doesn’t care about careers

And exigencies never fears;

Whose coat of elemental brown

A passing universe put on;

And independent as the sun,

Associates and glows alone,

Fulfilling absolute decree

In casual simplicity.


10. Estranged From Beauty

Estranged from beauty, none can be,

For beauty is infinity;

And power to be finite ceased

Before identity was leased.


11. Will There Really Be A Morning?

Will there really be a morning?

Is there such a thing as day?

Could I see it from the mountains,

If I were as tall as they?

Has it feel like water lilies?

Has it feathers like a bird?

Does it come from famous places

If which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar!

Oh, some sailor!

Oh, some wise man from the skies!

Please to tell this little pilgrim

Where the place called morning lies!



text by Philip Littell


1. My Name:


must be the sound I made as I was being made.


Out I came, made up

by a couple of men.

Old man made me

out of Adam’s rib…

Oh, did he?

God made Adam God made Adam God Adam God Adam

God damn it

My children

are going to know

who their mother is.

Mad bad Eve the amnesiac,

Eve the nymphomaniac,



Was young man Adam completely unconscious,

as I was manufactured?

Did he groan and whimper EVE

as I slipped out?

Did God mutter EVE

as he slapped me into shape?

Did I scream EVE

at the inevitable rape?

Or was EVE

the last breath shaped into a sound by my mother’s mouth as I came out?

I was too little to save her or remember anything about her…. Eve.

What are they trying to tell me with their stories?


I am allowed no clothing.

I am allowed no shame.

I have nothing to wear

but my beautiful hair,

my body, my face,

and MY NAME.




2. Even-ing

in the evening

I am at peace.

in the evening

I hear


more clearly



to the hearer

all the world

does sing

with a ringing

and a




the birds

wheel and turn


the setting sun


no longer burns


at the water’s

edge a wind

brushes by me

with a susurration:

grass and leaves

flowers glow against

the dark’ning trees

eyesight and the light

both go


ev’ry evening

the forest darkens

In the evening

my senses



I have

no peace at night.

I have no peace at night.


3. Good



Whoever you are.

Good morning.

Do you have a name yet?

Let me name you.

It must be the right name

So I don’t




Shall I name you?


Is your name?

I have not

Eaten yet.

Are you slow

Or fleet?

Are you obedient?

Are you

Good to eat?



Everything is good to eat.


Good Morning.

If I could

I would eat the world

Because it’s





4. Listen

Its entire body ripples back and forth

like a sentence, fascinating.


Do you want to be like God?


How do you mean?

 Be old and have a penis?

I don’t think so.  No.


Do you want to be like God?

You know what I mean.


Yes. I do.


My entire body ripples up and down

like a story. I am listening.


5. Snake


Is it true

About the fruit?

My intuition

Tells me what you say about

This fruit

Is true.


I’d like to find out, snake.

I’d love to know.

Go ahead in front of me

Where I can see you.

I will follow you.




The snake is in the tree.

Where I cannot see him.

He is now the color of



Very few things are

As visible as I am

When I’m clean.


When a thing is visible

It always means that the thing,

The tree frog,

or that fruit,

means to be seen.



A warning or

An invitation

And it never tells you


What’s visible will either

Feed you,

Mate with you,

Or kill you.

Either way you gain



Here goes.







And the taste of air,

Of rottenness,


And water.


Now I know.


6. Woe to Man

Woe to man

Woe to man

What can a man expect?

Think of all the riches, gifts,

Woman brings in her train,

Besides her obvious differences

(Inside out below the waist,

Bigger breasts, smaller brain)…

Can you think of any?


She is nothing

But trouble.


She is no thing.

Oh! you haven’t lived until

A man has said that to you.



Because she was born of man.

Woe to man.

Because he is born of woman.


7. The Wound

The wound



the tomb


Her womb


The woman


And hungers



The world in her belly

The sky in her head

Limbs heavy

She swells


A drop of water

Will not hold

Let it go

Let go


Not yet

The new-formed baby

Will not let me

Let it go

Just yet.


What is already

In that head?





8. The Farm

As I recollect

It was more like a farm

Than a garden.

We all worked.

It was a nice farm.


Everything grew.

Good soil

And plenty of water.

No, it didn’t rain,

We lived by the rivers.

The Tigris

And the Euphrates.

You might say

That where it all started.