Sunday, January 25, 2009

Emily in Utopia?




“Excuse me, Ma’am? Are you Emily Dickinson?”

A tired smile escapes PP as she settles into the top heated corner of Utopia. Did she just hear that right? Did Diabetes Woman’s Sidekick (DW is nowhere in sight) just ask her if she were Emily Dickinson?

Were there little Flowers, Bees, and Butterflies escaping from around PP, surrounding her Aura? What was it about PP tonight that would make anyone, least of all DWS, think she was the most esteemed and beloved American Poet?






Grinning, PP just shakes her head, and then asks DWS to repeat her question. She just couldn’t have heard her right. Right? “I’m sorry,” PP smiles, “But what did you say?”

“Are you Emily Dickinson?” DWS is serious as she stares at PP. Why is PP giving her such a hard time? Here she is, trying to start a friendly conversation in Utopia by trying to find out her correct name, and all this woman can do is ask her to repeat herself?

Well.

But now, there was no mistaking it. PP had heard correctly. DWS had asked if she were Emily Dickinson.

Should she just nod and say, yes? This appeals to PP who’s all about a good story. But yet, come on. There was nothing about PP that remotely resembles the Great Poetess.

First off. She can’t write poetry.
Second off, she has no appreciation of the Sublime.
Thirdly she’s not a Recluse.

Well, on second thought, she does have to fight this sometimes. The cold, the noise and the cat force her out into the world and into Utopia. If you can call that the World.

DWS is staring at PP waiting for an answer, rubbing her breasts with some weird goo as she watches PP closely for an answer.

Sighing, PP opts for the Truth. Which, is she supposes, a little bit in the Spirit of Emily. “No, I’m not Emily Dickinson,” she finally answers.

DWS nods. “You look like her.”
“I do?”
She nods, “Yes. She is friend of my daughter.”
“Oh....”
What’s PP supposed to say to this now? DWS has a daughter who's best friends with a Dead Poet?




And if this is true, then there’s the Age Question too. DWS’s daughter must be half of her age, which would be half of PP’s age, which means what? That PP looks like a 20 something Dead Poet?

Giggling, PP shakes her head. While a part of her Vanity likes this idea, her Realist side knows that it’s all just a case of Mistaken Identity.

Which doesn’t answer the question of why DWS thinks PP looks like her daughter’s friend.

Nor that the daughter’s friend is named Emily Dickinson.

Maybe Emily has come back to live a second (or third, or fourth?) life as a Best Friend to an Ethiopian Immigrant’s Daughter?

PP likes the Poetry of this. And the Absurdity of it. And yes, there’s something even a little bit of the Sublime in it.

Now if only PP could write a poem.

Then she really would believe in Life after Death.

1 comment:

Lovely I said...

If I can be Marilyn, you can be Emily! Claim it!