IF EMILY DICKINSON
HAD BEEN MY DAUGHTER

If Emily Dickinson had been my daughter
I wouldn't have let her come back home to live.
"Emily", I would have said,
"if you don't want to go to college
why not go hang out with Lucretia Mott
and do something for society?
You need to move to Philadelphia."

When she started sewing peoms into books
and putting them in her dresser I would have said,
"Emily, this is just too strange.
Get out of the house.
Meet some friends your own age."

When she began to lower candy in a basket
to children in the street below,
being careful not to show her face,
we would have gone for professional help.

"Emily", I would have said,
"You can't even get these poems published.
Do you think someone is going to come along
after you die and make you famous?"