Slanted Raising Agents
When Emily abandoned schoolwork, she
Assumed the baking in her family home.
She turned away from the formality
Of thinking of philosophers. Her dome
Became the kitchen ceiling. Still, the view
Outside that house took in the graveyard stones
Of Amherst death. At eighteen, then, she knew
The truth. She knew that death and life are groans
No matter how much yeast we add. If sun
Shone on the cemetery, it was dark,
And hard, “forbidding,” noted down by one
Of Amherst’s ministers. Her sight was stark.
..Prophetic, whimsical, or fey, profound,
….We write against a leavened graveyard ground.
Whatever You Do, Don’t Savor Her Poetry
Please, please, please do not tell anyone that
America’s first awesome poet turned
To baking. Did her cupcakes come out flat?
Did her biscuits, cakes and bread loaves . . . get burned?
Those sorts of things will be what’s focused on.
The public, currently obsessed with shows
On baking on tv, will start to yawn
If they are asked to read her poetry. The pros,
The academics, will endeavour to
Interpret all her stuff in light of sheets
For baking, rolling pins, and much ado
About the baking soda in her sweets.
..The rest of us, the few of us who love
….Her brilliance—will just be given the shove.